


This Charming Life

by starbuckmeggie



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff, New York City, Post-Series, Romance, The Bings, family life, friends - Freeform, westchester county
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 108,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: The story of Monica, Chandler, their kids, and their life. Post-Series





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a few years old. I've started the very slow process of editing and revamping all of my works and will be uploading when they're ready. They'll also be updated on ff.net as I go.Some of it holds up so I hope you enjoy!

"So, what else is on your list?" Chandler asks me, his face a little flushed and sweaty.

"Ummm…" I look down at the notepad in my hand, tapping my pen against my lips. "We did the kitchen, our bedroom and bathroom, the nursery, and most of the living room. I think that's probably about all we can do for the day. The only other thing on my list is 'hold the babies.'"

"That's not on there," he says, looking over my shoulder.

"But don't you think it should be?"

He nods in agreement as I toss my pad on the couch and we hurry over to the bassinet; the twins are sleeping peacefully, and I can't bring myself to risk disturbing their slumber. I feel Chandler's arm go around my shoulders and I lean in to him, relaxing against his side.

"God, this is weird," he says quietly.

"What's that?"

"We're parents. We're actually responsible for the lives of other tiny little people."

I wrap my arm around his waist and nod—I guess it _is_ a little weird, maybe even more so because we didn't have the usual pregnancy period to adjust to the idea of it all. Throw in the added loop of getting two babies instead of one and…yeah, it's kind of odd.

Two days ago, we were a childless couple living in an apartment in Manhattan; now we're the parents of twins living in a house in the suburbs. I guess this qualifies as a little more than weird.

"They're so beautiful," I whisper, even though I know I shouldn't whisper when they're sleeping, that I should be speaking in a normal voice so they don't become light sleepers. I'm just in such awe of them that I can't help it. I've never seen anything more beautiful.

"They're perfect," he answers, and I give him a little squeeze. It's hard to believe that just a couple of years ago, the thought of parenthood would send this guy screaming into the night. To be fair, even though I loved the idea of having a baby, at that point I don't think I was completely ready, either. But here he is, staring down at our children, completely rapt. "I never knew it was possible to love someone this much this fast. It actually hurts."

I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "It's like they were meant to be ours. I know that probably sounds stupid, but I just feel like we were _supposed_ to find them. They're _ours_, Chandler. It doesn't matter that we didn't make them, they belong to us."

He gives me a little tug, moving me in front of him. His arms wrap around me as he rests his chin on my head. "I still say Jack has your eyes."

I let out a watery laugh. "Maybe."

"I think I could look at them forever."

I nod in agreement, watching as their little chests rise and fall. It's amazing how something so simple can be so captivating.

"Can you tell which one is which yet just by looking at them?"

I sigh and hang my head. "No."

He laughs a little and gives me a squeeze. "I can't either. I just met them the other day."

"Part of me feels like I've known them forever," I whisper. There's a large part of me that know it sounds unbelievably corny and impossible, but that doesn't stop the rest of me from believing it's true. I've known these two little people less than forty-eight hours and it feels like they've been a part of my life forever. I already can't imagine a world that doesn't include them.

Chandler was right when he said it hurts; it's a good hurt, but my heart honestly feels like it could explode at any minute.

He kisses the side of my head and we sigh at the same time. One of the twins—I'm pretty sure Jack—yawns in his sleep, tiny baby noises escaping him, and I feel myself melt.

"This is literally all they do," Chandler says quietly, "but I'll be damned if it's not the most fascinating thing in the world."

I nod in agreement—there's so much more that needs to be done to the new house to make it livable, more that needs to be done before we go to sleep tonight, but it doesn't feel like any of it matters.

"How much is on your list that we were _supposed_ to get done today?"

I scoff a little. "Please. The whole house would have been done today if they hadn't been born early. Do you honestly think I'd be able to sleep knowing there were boxes to be unpacked?"

"And now?"

I shrug a little. "Doesn't seem that important. We've got the basics set up; everything will still be here tomorrow."

He gives me a little squeeze. "Has mommy-hood mellowed you?"

I actually have to stop and think about that for a moment. "It's possible. It's also possible that I'm in shock from the last few days. Maybe the old me will kick back in a few days from now. Don't know. And right now, I don't care. These little faces seem much more important."

We're silent again for a while. Erica—I think—opens her eyes for a few moments, taking in her surroundings before fluttering shut once more. "Do you think we're letting them sleep too much?" I ask suddenly.

"Really? You're asking me? I know less about being a parent than you do. How much is too much?"

"I have no idea." I feel a sense of sadness mixed with panic wash over me for a few moments. While some of this stuff has come along very naturally, instinctually, it's alarming how much I just don't know.

"Calm down, Monica," Chandler tells me, probably able to feel my heart pounding all of a sudden. "I think there's a lot of stuff we're not supposed to know yet. We've only been parents for a couple of days; we're probably going to mess things up, some of us more than others. We'll get the hang of it. Jack and Erica won't judge us."

"You're right." I lean my head back against his chest. "I know. I just hate having to guess at this stuff."

"I know you do, babe. But I don't think it matters how many books we read or how many other kids we helped take care of before this—there's no instruction manual."

"Kind of makes it surprising that of all the people in the world, _I_ would want to do this so desperately."

He chuckles; I can feel it rumble through my back. "Maybe. You're just going to have to learn how to let stuff go, I guess. And judging by you being okay with the house not being completely ready today, I think you're already on your way."

"Priorities," I say simply, and I feel him nod.

"Priorities." He's quiet for a moment, though I can practically hear him thinking. "Our kids are really cute. I mean, I know that all babies are beautiful, blah blah blah, but I think ours are the fairest of them all."

"You're definitely right," I agree quickly and wholeheartedly. "They are absolutely beautiful." I lean forward a little, delicately moving a blanket out of the way so I could see who's who. Since most of the clothing we bought in preparation for this was pretty gender-neutral, we've had to improvise. We stuck Jack in a dinosaur onesie—a gift from Ross, naturally—and Erica has a mouse on hers. I'm relieved to see that my mental calculations were correct and that the baby I thought was Jack is actually Jack. It was probably just dumb luck, but I'm going to let myself believe my maternal instincts are already kicking in.

I straighten the blanket, carefully running a finger over Jack's cheek, then do the same for Erica. Amazingly, neither of them flinch.

"What time are your parents going to be here tomorrow?" Chandler asks.

"They said to call when we're ready. I think they wanted to be here now, but I thought we could take some time to just be the four of us, you know? We'll put them to work tomorrow."

"It'll be their first time meeting the twins—how much work do you think they'll get done?"

"Even if they just handle childcare, it'll be something we don't have to worry about."

"I guess you're right."

"Hey, did you call your parents?"

"Yeah, I left them some messages. They both keep weird hours, so we probably won't hear from them until tomorrow at best."

"You think they'll want to come out and meet the twins?"

"Actually, yes. I've gotten the impression they're both very eager to be grandparents. Can you just imagine Helena Handbasket on stage, talking about her grandchildren?"

It's not so hard to imagine, actually. "I think your father would pass around pictures proudly, to tell you the truth. And your mom will probably brag about it to Leno next time she's on."

"At any rate, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm sure my parents will be as wonderfully overbearing as yours are sure to be."

"We'll just have to remind ourselves that they mean well."

"But if your mother ever attempts to treat Erica the way she's treated you…"

I pat his hand comfortingly. "Over my dead body. Hers, too."

Jack's eyes open suddenly, his little limbs moving under his blanket. His face turns red and scrunches up just before he lets out a wail that breaks my heart. "Ohhhh, what's the matter, sweetie?" The voice that comes out of me is one I've never heard before, though one I imagine I'll be using for quite some time. "Are you hungry?" I reach for him, carefully taking him into my arms. I maneuver around his blanket, checking his diaper and finding it dry. I look over at Chandler and see Erica is already in his arms, her eyes wide open.

"I feel like she's going to be the troublemaker," he says, his eyes never leaving her.

"Daddy's little girl," I say as my body sways involuntarily, Jack's cries quieting a bit as we head into the kitchen.

Chandler looks up at me and grins. "Definitely daddy's girl. I'm fully prepared to be the stereotypical father waiting in the living room with a shotgun the first time some guy picks her up for a date."

I reach for the bottles as Chandler reaches for the formula, each of us trying to get the hang of doing things one-handed. "You're going to embarrass her, aren't you? Stand in the doorway in your bathrobe and wave goodbye to her or something?"

"You betcha. Anything to keep the boys away."

I shake my head even as I smile, the two of us working in tandem to get bottles ready. He never expressed a preference about which gender he wanted, but I always kind of figured he'd rather have a daughter, though I don't know why. But going by how protective he is already, I can tell I was right on the money.

Amazingly, the bottles do the trick, the babies nodding off again before long, though this time we keep them in our arms.

"I want to say this is easier than I expected," Chandler whispers, "but I know that's jinxing it."

"I think the first few days are calmer than the rest of their lives—it's to lull you into a false sense of security."

We wander back into the living room, and I marvel at how much space we have now.

"It's really quiet out here," he says suddenly. "I mean, despite the wailing baby noises."

"I know. There's no traffic, there's no one around." A thought occurs to me. "Do you realize that for the first time since we've been together, we have actual privacy? We don't live across the hall from anyone; our friends can't just wander in and out when they feel like it. It's just us."

"Well, that's a scary thought," he says, teasingly. "Think we'll be able to manage it?"

"Honestly? I think it'll be an adjustment. I think it'll take some getting used to. But I also think they'll be out here a lot once they realize how nice it is."

Slowly, we walk upstairs with the twins in our arms, headed toward the nursery. It's barebones right now—we _did_ think we had another few weeks to get ready, and neither of us wanted to buy a lot of stuff and store it in our apartment only to have to move it again in a couple of weeks. Hopefully tomorrow we'll have a chance to get to a store. Hopefully, we'll actually be able to _find_ a store.

Carefully, we put them in their bassinet, Chandler reaching out to boop their noses carefully.

"I think we might have successfully completed our first full day of parenthood," he tells me. "One down, a lifetime to go."

I chuckle quietly. "Think we'll be able to peel ourselves away from them for a little while? It's probably not healthy to stare at them all night while they sleep."

"Yeah, that probably leaves the realm of 'attentive parent' and goes somewhere very unhealthy." Reluctantly, we turn to leave the room, Chandler turning on the monitor as we go. A few steps later, we're in our room, the other end of the monitor crackling softly, waiting to alert us to any change in Jack and Erica.

I feel his arms slide around my waist as he kisses my neck, my head automatically drifting to one side to accommodate him, moaning softly.

"What are the odds of me getting sex tonight?" he asks, his voice muffled against my skin.

"Oh, honey. I want to—I _really_ want to…"

He sighs, his enthusiasm waning a bit. "But?"

"I'm just so tired. Neither of us has gotten any sleep the last couple of nights. I don't even know how you have the energy."

"Seeing you as a mother turns me on," he whispers, moving to the other side of my neck, and I feel my body start to respond to his ministrations. I turn in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck, my lips finding his, and we melt together for a few minutes in a slow, sweet kiss. "It just seems wrong to not christen our new house on our first night, you know?"

"Tell you what," I say, punctuating my words with kisses. "I can promise you some making out _and_ some under the shirt action. If I don't fall asleep, I'm yours."

"Challenge accepted," he answers, picking me up suddenly by the backs of my thighs before we fall onto our bed, his lips attacking mine.

I smile against his mouth; maybe I'm not that tired after all.


	2. Chapter 2

I watch as Monica slathers sunscreen down Jack's legs, rubbing it into his little feet, before moving over to Erica, smoothing the lotion onto her chubby little cheeks.

"I don't think sunscreen wears off in fifteen minutes, hon," I mention, even though I know it's probably pointless.

"It doesn't hurt to be careful," she answers, moving down the baby's arms.

"I agree, but it was seriously only fifteen minutes ago you put the latest layer on them. Never mind that they're wearing hats, the tops of their carriers are pulled up, _and_ they're under an umbrella. This practically looks like night to them at this point."

She gives me a dirty look, but stops with the sunscreen. I rub her back soothingly, and she shakes her head, mostly at herself I think.

"Are we shocked that I'm an overprotective mother?"

I chuckle and shrug. "Not really. But you're a really great mom, too, if that helps."

I see her shoulders relax and she leans against me, smiling. "It helps." I kiss her hair and wrap my arm around her shoulders.

I hear giggling and we both turn our heads to look—Ross and Rachel each have one of Emma's hands, swinging her back and forth, the little girl having the time of her life, Ben running in circles around them.

"Won't be long before ours are big enough for that."

"Don't even think it." She sounds horrified at the thought of our twins getting older, and I can't say as I blame her; they're already just over two months old. They look less like teeny-tiny newborns and more like itty-bitty people now.

Erica's eyes fly open suddenly, and Monica and I both tense, waiting to see if she'll scream bloody murder again. Instead, she just studies us, sucking at her pacifier studiously. Jack sleeps on, oblivious.

"What do you think she sees right now?" I wonder.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Whatever it is, it's something familiar. We're the faces that have been staring at her since she was born."

The giggling grows closer, and Ross, Rachel, Ben, and Emma plop down on the sand beside us. Rachel cringes when she sees Jack still sleeping. "Sorry," she whispers.

Monica rolls her eyes, waving her away. "They sleep through pretty much anything."

"Where are Mom and Dad?" Ross asks, grabbing the sunscreen from Monica, spreading it over Emma's cheeks and nose.

"At the house, heating up a couple bottles of formula for the royal couple over here," I answer. "Any moment now, her majesty will demand to be fed. She's good at getting Jack all riled up, too. It's easier to get them preemptively."

"I can't imagine this little sweetie pie getting anyone riled up," Rachel says to Erica, her voice bordering on baby-talk, as she gently grabs her little foot. Erica's eyes shift to Rachel's face, sucking on her pacifier more intently.

"That's because you guys haven't spent a lot of time with them yet," Monica answers, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "She's trouble."

"And Jack isn't?" Ross asks, disbelievingly.

Monica shakes her head. "Not yet. He sleeps. He's good at it. It's his favorite pastime. When he cries, it's usually for a reason. When Erica cries…well, we're figuring out it's usually to see how fast she can get her daddy to fall at her feet."

I grin, unabashed. My tiny little daughter has me wrapped around her even tinier little fingers. "I'm whipped by the women in my life; I'm not ashamed."

My wife links her fingers through mine and leans over, pressing a kiss to my arm. I lean my head against hers, exhaustion settling over my body.

"Sorry if we're keeping you awake," Ross says sarcastically. I feel Monica's head turn, and I can only imagine the look she's giving him right now; suddenly, he's very interested in his own children.

"You're kidding me, right? You do realize we have _two_ of these, don't you? Between the two of us, we get maybe five hours of sleep a night, and none of it is consecutive. This is the first time we've been able to take them anywhere longer than a few hours, and it's the first time we've seen you guys in over a month. We are doing our _absolute best_ right now, okay?" I can hear the strain in Monica's voice, the fatigue evident with every move of her body.

The rest of us sit in silence for a few moments, Emma oblivious to the tension, Ben looking at us cautiously.

"It was nice of Jack and Judy to arrange this little get-together, wasn't it?" I ask suddenly, trying to be enthusiastic.

Rachel clears her throat, nodding. "It was a great idea to get us all out here like this."

Genuinely, it was a very nice idea on the part of Monica's parents to invite us all to their beach house for the Fourth of July weekend; they wanted to be able to see all of their grandchildren at one time, and since the four of us have barely been able to find time to be in one county at the same time, we all jumped at the chance. For the most part, the weekend has been nothing but nice, until Ross makes little snips at his sister and makes her hackles go up.

The stress of parenthood is greater than either of us expected. It's wonderful and amazing, but just completely outside the realm of anything either of us has done. The strain we're feeling is pretty intense, and the lack of sleep isn't doing us any favors.

That's not to say that our marriage has been strained; aside from us being a little quicker to snap at each other on occasion, we still feel pretty solid. And Monica really is the most amazing mother ever; she moves from one baby to the other constantly, picks up fallen pacifiers without looking, wipes mouths, changes diapers, soothes tears, all while looking blissfully serene. She truly was born to do this.

I just try to keep up, hoping I won't screw them up too badly. As long as I get up with them in the middle of the night and love them, Monica seems pretty happy with how things are going.

Unfortunately, she had to go back to work a few weeks ago, and I think that's been eating at her more than anything. She doesn't want to give up working, but I watch her heart break every time she has to leave the twins. To have her brother pick on her because she's tired is probably enough to push her over the edge, especially when we've only seen him a handful of times since moving out to Westchester. She doesn't like to admit that it upsets her as much as it does, and we both know it's tough to coordinate all of our schedules now, but she's been particularly offended that Ross hasn't come to see us more.

I see Monica's parents walking down the beach toward us, bottles in Judy's hand, bags of what will probably wind up being snacks in Jack's, and I feel a sense of relief at the prospect of the tension breaking.

Rachel smacks Ross's arm. "Sorry, Monica," he mumbles, and Rachel looks over at us sympathetically. I know she understands what we're going through, being thrown into the deep end herself not that long ago, and I think our kids are less fussy than Emma was at this age.

Ben comes and stands in front of us. "Aunt Monica, when can I hold the babies?"

She smiles up at our nephew, poking at his side. "After they've eaten. You wouldn't like holding them when they're hungry—they get very cranky." Ben's face falls, disappointed. "I promise, kiddo. It'll only take a few minutes."

On cue, Erica starts wailing, the noise she's producing able to shatter glass. Monica flies into action, grabbing our daughter, standing up, and taking a bottle out of her mother's hand in one fluid motion. She takes the pacifier out of the baby's mouth, immediately replacing it with the bottle; Erica calms instantly.

I look at Jack, who looks startled, his eyes wide. A moment later, his face scrunches up and he starts to cry, too.

"Hey, buddy," I say softly, lifting him out of the carrier, taking the bottle out of Judy's outstretched hand. I stand up, bouncing him gently, holding the bottle to his mouth, his little head moving back forth as he fights me on the issue. "You're okay. You're okay." His lips finally wrap around the nipple and he starts to suck greedily, his little forehead furrowing in concentration.

I move over to Monica, who's swaying back and forth with Erica, and nudge her carefully with my shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

She nods, looking up at me for a second before her attention returns to Erica. "Yeah. It's just…I mean, we've only seen Ross—what? Four times since we moved, and only twice at the house? And when we do see him, he gives me crap about being tired when we're trying to raise two little babies? Or worse, complains about how I'm too busy to see him now."

"I think he just misses you, Mon."

"Well, he has a funny way of showing it, doesn't he?"

"He's a _guy_," I try to explain. "We're not the best at expressing how we feel. So, yeah, he's probably pouting and being a dick because he's not used to not seeing you every day."

"I miss him, too, but it's not like we can just run to Manhattan all the time. Look how hard it is trying to get all of their stuff together just to run to the store. He knows how hard it is having kids this size—it would take him almost an hour just to cross the street when Emma was a baby."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"In all that spare time I have?"

I sigh, adjusting Jack in my arms. "I'm not the enemy, Monica. I'm on your side. I just don't want you to feel any more stressed out than you already are."

I see her shoulders drop. "I know. It's just easier to fight with you sometimes."

"You're good at it, too," I tease. She looks at me indignantly—the same look I've seen on Erica's face when we take away her pacifier—so I lean in and give her a quick peck. "Hey, Ross—come here for a sec."

Monica's eyes grow wide as she stares at me and I shrug. "Better to get it out of the way now," I tell her as Ross appears in front of us.

"What's up?"

I look at Monica pointedly, and finally she sighs. "Why are you being such a jerk?"

Ross manages to look a little offended, even as his head droops a little. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. We never see you anymore, and when we do, you're sulky and mean. What's going on with you?"

"I'm not sulky."

I roll my eyes as Monica scoffs. "Really? And what are you doing right now, then?"

"You're so far away…"

"It's an hour, tops."

"Well, you know, you can come see me more often—"

"You have to be kidding me. Ross, I have _two_ two-month-olds. Chandler and I both commute into the city for work every day; I'm sorry if running to hang out with you at the coffeehouse after work isn't our top priority, but usually we need to pick up the kids and get home before it gets too late." I see Monica's eyes fill with tears and I bite my lip—I can't stand to see my wife cry. "Look—I'm not asking you to come out every day, or even once a week. I know that you're busy. But would it kill you to make more of an effort? We're trying our best, but it's really hard on us, too. You guys all still have each other, and we're trying to deal with this almost entirely on our own, and it'd just be nice if my brother didn't insist on being a complete ass because I can't come to him all the time."

He reaches out and wraps an arm around his sister's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Mon. I just miss having you around, you know? I used to see you every day."

"I live in a different county, not a different country."

"I know—it just feels like it sometimes."

"I get it but…I want you to know your niece and nephew—they're pretty incredible little people. They might be the only ones you get, too."

I snort as I shift Jack to my shoulder, patting his back gently and coaxing out a burp; Monica and Ross stare at me. "Oh, come on. These two won't be the only ones—we're gonna get more."

She gives me a funny look as Ross says, "I don't know if I've been a _complete_ ass."

"Oh, you totally have," Rachel says, and the three of us jump, realizing we have an audience. Ross's mouth drops open to protest when Jack and Judy nod at him. Monica's eyes widen in surprise at her parents taking her side on this. Emma looks around at the adults around her then starts nodding her head like her grandparents, and poor Ben shuffles awkwardly. I take pity on him and go sit down under the umbrella.

"You ready to do this?" I ask him, gesturing to my son. Ben nods eagerly and plops down next to me, holding out his arms. I ease Jack over to him, keeping my hands under him as Ben gets his arms situated. "Make sure you support his head," I tell him. "His neck isn't too strong yet." I watch tensely for a moment as I remove my hands before I realize that Ben has it under control. He grins at me as he holds his cousin in his arms. I reach into one of the carriers and pull out a pacifier, sticking it into Jack's mouth.

"Hey, Dad! Look at this!" his voice surprisingly gentle as he calls out to Ross, who comes over and kneels next to his son, smiling, and I scoot back a little to give them some space.

Monica sits down beside me, her arms empty, and I realize that I've missed the rest of her conversation with her brother. She nods her head over to Rachel, who is busy cooing at Erica, Emma looking on over her shoulder, answering my question before I can ask it.

"Everything okay with you two?"

She shrugs, leaning into me. "I think so. He said he's going to make more of an effort _and_ stop being such a jerk. Even Mom was reprimanding him for his behavior, which may be the first time in history."

I gently drape my arm across her leg, stroking her knee, still amazed at how empty my arms feel without one of the twins tucked against me. Her arm slides around my waist, her head falling against my shoulder. "So, you want more kids, huh?"

A grin spreads across my face. "Don't you?"

"I honestly haven't thought about it a lot in the last few months."

"Well, think about it now. I mean, we don't have to start looking into adoption again right now or anything, but it's something we should talk about."

Her left hand links with my left hand, and I still get a rush at seeing the wedding bands on our fingers. I bring our joined hands to my lips, kissing her knuckles for a moment before our hands settle back against her knee. "I'm exhausted all the time, we don't get any sleep, we're both cranky, and I've been downright bitchy to you more often than not lately. I feel like I'm dirty all the time, I don't know when I last ate hot food or an entire meal, and aside from this weekend and going to work, I can't remember the last time I went out in public in something other than sweats or pajamas." I remain silent, slowly rubbing my fingers against hers, knowing that she's not finished. "And I can't wait to have more."

The smile on my face widens. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I tilt my face down to hers, our lips meeting in a soft kiss.

"Maybe we should wait until the twins are a little older before we start going through the process again," she concedes. "But I think it's definitely something we should do."

"I love you," I whisper, kissing her again.

"I know," she answers against my lips. She sighs a few moments later, her head dropping to my shoulder again, my head coming to rest on hers, and we watch our family fawn over our children.

What Monica said was right—we're both exhausted, dirty, cranky, and hungry all the time. But I know that neither of us would trade it for anything in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm so glad we decided to do this," Chandler grunts out, panting.

"Yeah," I agree, trying to regulate my breathing.

"I mean, it's been _years_ since we jogged together."

I glance over at him; his face is red, his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, and he looks less than thrilled. I huff out a laugh and return my attention to the path in front of me. "Cardio, baby. You'll thank me for it later."

"I can think of better ways to get our heart rates up, you know."

"Yeah, but we can't do that in front of the kids."

It turns out that the suburbs are more than just peaceful—they can bet downright boring. Maybe it's not so bad if you didn't just live in the city that never sleeps, but when you're suddenly getting very little sleep at night, a quiet town feels like the enemy.

Not that I regret moving out here; it's just an adjustment to go from constant activity to…well, considerably less activity.

And despite the exhaustion that comes with being a new parent, I'm finding that I have odd amounts of energy. I don't know if it's because of all the changes in my life lately or because I've gone beyond exhaustion to a whole new level of existence, but I've taken up jogging to keep myself occupied.

Naturally, I drag Chandler along for the ride, and even though he complains about it, he's still out there with me, usually pushing the stroller.

Sometimes, I realize we've become so…suburban already I think I could kill myself. I'm sure we look normal out here, but if we'd seen people like us—a married couple jogging with a double stroller—in Central Park, we would have made fun of them for hours.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I glance down at the twins, who seem perfectly content to be bounced along the path we're on.

That seems like more of a metaphor for life right now than I'm comfortable with.

The added bonus of these jogs is that it seems to calm Jack and Erica when they're being fussy.

But this has been a good way to get out of our house, which, as beautiful and wonderful as it is, can feel oddly oppressive when we've been holed up in it for days at a time, taking care of colicky, cranky children.

It's also a good way to actually get to know the area where we live, even if we still don't really know our neighbors.

That's been another adjustment; friendly neighbors. After so many years in the city, we both got used to the anonymity that oddly comes with living in such close quarters with so many people; usually, you nod at someone and carry on with your life. Out here, people actually want to get to know you. People greet us when we happen to go to the mailbox at the same time, or when we bump into them at the store. They ask questions about our children or where we're from, and not in a prying sort of way—just in a get-to-know-you way.

We're doing our damndest not to alienate our neighbors while we adjust to life out here, but we haven't been excessively friendly, either. I think most people understand that we have two little kids and our time is fairly limited.

We're also trying to work past how it almost feels like betraying our old friends by making new friends.

"How much longer?" Chandler pants, sounding cranky.

"The path ends just up there," I answer, nodding to a clearing not far in the distance.

He grunts in resignation, his breathing labored.

"Want me to push them?" I ask.

He just shakes his head, focused on the end of the run.

He really is a good sport; I know how much he hates running.

A few minutes later, we break through the clearing and our speed immediately slows. We walk in relative silence for a few more minutes as we both get our breathing under control, the twins making sweet little baby noises in the stroller in front of us.

Eventually, we come to a stop under a tree and park the stroller, both of us flopping to the ground. I take out a couple bottles of water and hand one to Chandler. "Thank you."

He lifts his eyebrow as he gulps most of his water. "For what?"

"For this. I know it's not your favorite thing to do."

He shrugs and kisses my cheek. "That sports bra top thingy barely contains your boobs when you run."

Self-consciously, I cross my arms over my chest. "Good to know. Does that mean all of our neighbors have been enjoying the show, too?"

"Probably no more so than when any other woman jogs by. Look, it's not like a Baywatch-level bounce. I just find it wildly appealing."

"Regardless, I'll be finding a new top soon."

He makes a face but says nothing. Instead, he leans up and looks at the twins, who coo happily when they see his face. Immediately, I follow suit, the look on their faces as they stare at their father enough to melt even the coldest of hearts.

"Hi Jack," I say, my heart fluttering when his eyes actually turn to me, his smile all gummy. They're just starting to respond to their names…we think. At the very least, they respond to our voices, which is still great. I look at my daughter, who's already staring at me—yeah, that one was probably a response to the sound of Mommy instead of a name. Still…I'll take it. "Hi Erica."

They kick happily, and Chandler grins at them, reaching out to tickle one little foot, then another, and I rest my head on my husband's shoulder. "How are they already three and a half months?"

He shakes his head slowly, still looking at the twins in wonder. He does that a lot, as if he still has trouble believing these little miracles belong to us.

I understand, though, because I feel the same way.

"You wanna come out to play?" he asks them, and drool dribbles down Erica's chin. "I'll take that as a yes." He reaches out for them and I place a hand on his arm.

"Blanket," I tell him, pulling it out from the bottom of the stroller as he sighs.

"It's okay for them to get a little dirty, Mon."

"I know," I answer defensively as I spread the blanket out on the ground. "Does that mean we need to get yet another outfit dirty? Or in this case, two outfits? I think I have more than enough laundry as it is."

He says nothing, and instead opts to lift Jack out of the stroller, handing him to me, before picking up Erica. I bounce Jack a little on my lap, impressed to feel his little legs offering some resistance. I'm sure they're both a ways off from being able to stand, but it's still amazing to see how much they're changing and growing, sometimes by the hour. I lift him up and kiss his belly, and he blows bubbles at me in response.

"Tummy time?" I ask him, expecting no response, as I gently lay him on his stomach.

Chandler groans. "I really hate that expression," he tells me, even as he puts Erica on her stomach, too.

"Well, if you have a better name for it, please feel free," I answer, laying face down on the blanket next to my son, looking up to see Erica peeking at me. Even I have to admit that "tummy time" is pretty lame, and "supervised tummy time" is even worse, but I get why it's done.

I watch our children for a while as they try to use their arms to hold themselves up, their feet kicking a little, Chandler explaining the intricacies of the world to them; it's completely captivating.

We fall silent for a while, and finally I ask, "Are you okay?"

"Sure. Why do you ask?"

"You just seem…grumpy today."

"I really don't like jogging," he answers and I roll my eyes.

"This is more than a dislike of a physical activity."

"I'm okay—really."

I don't believe him, but I don't know what could be bugging him, and he can be really uncommunicative when he wants to be. Then I remember his comment earlier about other ways to work out. "Are you getting enough sex?" I blurt out.

Chandler sputters for a moment, his eyes growing wide. "What? Where did that come from?"

"Sometimes you get crabby when you haven't gotten laid for a while, so…I mean, I know I've been distracted since the twins were born, so maybe…"

His hand reaches out, covering mine. "Monica—it's fine."

I feel an involuntary wave of sadness wash over me. "So, that _is_ it."

He sighs, squeezing my fingers until I look up at him, his eyes sad, too. "That's not it. I promise you. Would I like to have sex more? Of course. But let's be honest, honey—since the first time we slept together, I haven't been able to get enough of you. Would it be nice to be able to spend all day in bed together, making love with no interruptions? Well, yeah, but it's been a long time since we've done that—long since before the kids came along. It's just not realistic. But please don't think that what you're giving me isn't enough, because it is."

"The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy," I mumble, looking away from him, averting my eyes to our children.

"I'm _not_ unhappy. Not even a little. I love our life. I just get a little…horny."

"Okay, well, I don't want that, either. What if I get so busy being a mommy that I forget to be your wife and you go—"

His hands immediately reach out, gently holding my face, bringing my eyes to meet his. "I will _never_ cheat on you. _Never_. You're my wife and I love you and our children more than anything. You are the best thing to ever happen to me, and I wouldn't do something stupid to ruin it, especially not something like hooking up with some girl to—what? Relieve tension? Besides; I think we have a lot more sex than most new parents do. Just don't think you need to put out more because I get turned on by a gentle breeze half the time."

I chuckle, one of my hands reaching up to hold his. "Then what's bothering you if it's not lack of sex?"

He hangs his head for a moment, glancing over at the twins to make sure they're all right. "It's kind of dumb," he warns.

"If it's upsetting you, it's not dumb."

"I'm pissed off at myself because I want so much sex."

I blink at him several times, my mind actually a complete blank. "What?"

"It's not a lack of nookie that's got me cranky, I promise. I don't even get upset when you're too tired for it—I know how hard you work at the restaurant, and then you come home and do all this housework and you really are the world's greatest mom, and then I just get irritated at myself for not being more understanding and wanting you so much all the time."

I finally sit up, bringing Jack with me, propping him into a sitting position against my legs, my hand on his chest to keep him upright. "You're saying you're mad at yourself because you want me too much?"

He shrugs, picking Erica up as well, helping her balance on her feet. "Told you it was dumb."

"This may be the first time ever, but I have no idea how to respond to that."

"Look, I don't want to seem like some horny, teenage guy all the time, so yeah…I get irritated with myself for being so…"

"Human?"

"I'm telling you, this is stupid but…you've always been beautiful to me, you know? Always. But something about you being a mother is just…I don't know. It's just such an incredible turn-on that I don't know what do with myself. And now you're always so tired and stretched so thin that I feel like a jerk keeping you awake when I know you need the sleep."

I feel relieved laughter bubble out of me. "Oh, my God. I thought we weren't doing it because I was becoming such a turn-_off_. I always have some sort of baby fluid on me, or I'm dirty because I haven't felt like showering because it just takes too much energy to stand for that long some days, or—"

I'm cut off by his lips on mine, his free hand tangling in my hair, and I fall into the kiss, relief coursing through my veins. Until this moment, I hadn't realized just how unappealing I'd felt, and it's wonderful to know that it's all in my head.

"In all the years we've been sleeping together," I say when we come up for air. "How many times have I turned you down?"

"Not many," he admits, gently rubbing his nose against mine.

"And how many times have I turned you down because I was tired?"

He's silent, and I can tell he's trying to the make calculations in his head. "Even less. But I—"

I kiss him again, cutting him off. "Just ask," I say simply.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Here I thought I was being noble, letting you get some much-needed sleep, and I had you thinking I didn't want you. When did we stop talking to each other?"

"I think somewhere around the time two little people came into our lives," I answer, leaning down to kiss Jack's head.

Chandler picks up Erica, propping her up so that she's against his shoulder, facing out, their heads side by side. "So, I guess the lesson we've learned today is to communicate. Seems like that should have been Marriage 101."

"It was. But now we're a family, and we have to figure out how to do that, too. Everything's different. We just have to try to take time for just us once in a while. Talk about something more than what the twins did every day, you know? And maybe one day, if we're bold enough, get a babysitter and go on a date or something?"

"I love you," he tells me, and I feel tears prickle behind my eyes. "I probably don't tell you that enough, especially not lately, but I love you. You, Jack, Erica…you're my whole world."

"I love you, too," I whisper. He smiles as he leans in, gently kissing me again. I feel Erica's hand in my hair and I laugh, pulling away from her gently. "Come on. These two will need to eat again soon."

"All right," he answers, standing up with ease despite the baby in his arms. He gently grabs my elbow to help me up, then wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, the four of us standing in an embrace until Jack starts to wiggle against my side, either in need of attention or not fond of being squished in.

"Okay, little man," I say, shifting him up and turning him out so he can look at the world. "Let's go home."

Chandler packs up the blanket and we each grab a handle of the stroller, walking slowly this time, taking care to point out sights and sounds along the way.

And, just as importantly, taking a few moments here and there to kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

I click save on my computer about five times, making sure my file is saved on a disc and the hard drive. I settle my glasses on top of my head, rubbing my eyes for a few moments before yawning and stretching. I stick the disc in my briefcase then turn off the computer before standing and stretching once more, casually scratching my stomach.

I shuffle through the house, making sure all the lights are off and doors are locked before heading upstairs. I immediately head into the nursery, looking in on the twins.

My awesome wife, knowing I had a lot of work to take care of before my presentation tomorrow, offered to bathe and put the babies to bed on her own tonight.

She really has this motherhood thing down pat. Half the time, I'm pretty sure I'm just along for the ride.

Eh; just as long as she keeps me around, I'm okay with being arm candy.

I look in on Erica first; she's sprawled on her back, arms flung out, her mouth hanging open, tiny baby snores rumbling through her little body. There's no doubt in my mind that my little girl is going to be a troublemaker as soon as she can walk. She's going to be the one who I'm going to have to worry about coming home pierced or tattooed for no other reason than she was bored, or who'll drop out of college to form a polka-rock band, and all she'll have to do is bat her eyes at me and I'll be convinced that it was all a good idea.

I stroke her cheek and sigh—I really am in for a world of hurt with this one—before moving over to my son.

Jack is curled up on his side, hand fisted next to his face. I'm pretty sure this little dude is going to be the one to go with the flow on pretty much everything. He spends a good chunk of his spare time sleeping if he's not eating. His pediatrician says he's fine—it's just his personality. He's just laid back. I give his shoulder a little nudge, encouraging him to roll onto his back. Since he's capable of rolling onto his belly on his own, logically I know he's fairly safe, but this is my first time at the whole father-thing—I worry.

I stand in the doorway for a few moments, marveling over the fact that my babies are now five months old. Five months. I would swear that just yesterday Monica and I brought them home from the hospital; they were so teeny and helpless. Now…well, five months isn't exactly self-sufficient, but they have a lot more personality now than ever.

I shake my head and leave the room quietly, pulling the door part-way shut, and head into our bathroom to brush my teeth. I leave the light off and prop myself on the doorframe to watching Monica, who seems to be oblivious to my presence, focused on the book in front of her. It's a good sign that she's still awake; among other things, the twins have started mostly sleeping through the night, which has been wildly helpful to ward off complete exhaustion, even if their sleep schedule is a little different from each other's.

I check out the time as I crawl into bed next to Monica, rolling my eyes as I realize it's barely past nine—we certainly know how to live it up. I kiss her shoulder, waiting for her to reach a stopping point. I see her eyes move rapidly as she hurries to finish the page, her head starting to turn to me before she finally faces me, smiling brightly, her lips meeting mine briefly. "Hi!"

I smile at her, leaning in. She shoves the bookmark into place and tosses her book aside. "Hey there," I answer, sliding my arms around her as I pull her closer, kissing her more thoroughly, and she sighs into my mouth. We sink back against the pillows, falling into each other, for several long minutes before we come up for air. She rests her head against my shoulder, her arm going around my waist.

"Get all your work done?"

"Yeah; I'm all set for tomorrow. Thank you, by the way, for putting the rugrats to bed on your own tonight."

She shrugs, turning her head to kiss my neck briefly. "No big deal. You do it all the time when I have to work late."

"Still—it was a huge help."

"Well, it's not often you actually have to bring work home, so I figured it must be important."

Can't argue with that. My job in advertising has been one of the best things to ever happen to me, outside of Monica and our kids. They've been good to me, too, in that they don't particularly care where I get work done so long as it gets done, which means I can work from home when I need to, especially when one of the kids are sick. As long as I give them results, they're pretty happy. So when a big a project comes up and they ask for us to put in extra hours, I'm usually more than happy to oblige, and Monica knows how much I love this job, so she always works with me.

"So how was your day?" I ask, kissing her hair. We try to make sure we find at least a few minutes every day to actually talk about our lives, and I think we've both seen the positive effects; one of the things that's always kept our relationship so strong is that we've always, even when we were just friends, been able to talk to each other.

"Just a day. Work was kind of slow. Oh! But I did see Rachel."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah—she came in at the end of my shift so we grabbed a cup of coffee before I went to pick up the kids. All she did was complain about Ross."

I shake my head, pulling Monica a little closer. "Really?"

"I swear that's all she does lately."

"She _is_ aware that he's your brother, right?"

"See, that's not even the part that bothers me—I know what a pain in the ass he can be. But she decided that she loves him, and she decided to give up Paris for him, knowing what he's like. I mean, I know he's gotten better about the whole jealousy thing. She wasn't even really complaining about anything real, you know? It was more that she didn't like the way he said this, or she wasn't happy with how he did that. Just stupid stuff, but she constantly mentioned what she gave up for him. I can't help but wonder if she's going to hold that over his head for the rest of their lives. I mean, yeah, she gave up a great job to stay here, but that was her choice."

I sigh, taking Monica's hand in mine, playing with her fingers. "You think they'll last?"

I feel her head shake against my shoulder. "I don't know. I mean, I know they love each other, but do they have what it takes to make it work?"

"They're not us, that's for sure," I say, peaking down at her as I give her shoulder a squeeze.

She looks up at me and smiles. "They sure aren't."

My heart has a moment where it feels so full that I think it could burst—this is my life. I'm married to the best woman in the world, and we have the most amazing kids possible. No other relationship in the world can hold a candle to what we have.

I lean down and kiss her again, and I feel her body responding, molding around me. She hums happily in the back of her throat, one of her hands sliding through my hair, and I feel desire surge through my veins. She pulls back a little, far enough so that we can both gasp for breath but close enough so that our lips are still skimming each other's. "How was your day?" she breathes.

I huff out a laugh. "Oh, you know. Same old same old; got up, went to work, came home, the usual." I press my lips to hers again, not at all interested at the moment in talking about the day's events, and I feel her body shake as she laughs into my mouth.

"The twins asleep?" she whispers as her hands slide under my t-shirt.

"Out like little logs," I assure her, my own hand sliding up the back of her tank top, gently stroking her back. I feel her shiver as she moans. A moment later, she sits up and I almost protest before she pulls her top over her head, tossing it over her shoulder. I grin as I sit up, too, her hands tugging at my shirt as we pull it off together. I tug her back to me, our bare torsos rubbing against each other, creating wonderful friction. I groan and lay her back on the bed, bringing my lips to hers once more. I slide my hand under the waistband of her pajama pants, suddenly extremely anxious to get her naked, when I realize I'm greeted by bare skin.

"Commando?" I ask breathlessly. "Were you planning for this tonight?"

"Hopeful," she concedes. "I was hopeful that you'd be up for it."

I shift against her playfully. "Oh, I'm up for it."

She laughs as she strokes my cheek, and I'm once again astounded by just how beautiful this woman is; her lips are already swollen, her eyes are dilated and at half-mast, her cheeks are flushed, and her soft, incredible skin is against mine, so ready, so eager for me, that it nearly knocks the wind out of me.

"I love you," I whisper, and I've never meant it as much as I mean it in this moment.

"I love you, too," she answers, her own hands going to work on my pajama pants. I roll away from her for a moment, removing first her pants then mine, then I cover her body with my own, the feel of our bodies against each other just as powerful today as it was six years ago.

She drags her nails lightly up and down my back as she kisses me, and my body shudders in response. I softly stroke her sides, feeling her body twitch as I hit spots that are only ticklish at moments like this. I feel her hips move against mine and I shake my head, pulling away from her.

"I don't want to rush it tonight," I tell her softly. Lately, we've been so worried about one of the babies waking up while we're mid-coitus that we've taken to hurrying through the process; it's still been pretty great, but it doesn't give me much of a chance to worship her the way she deserves.

"I am _so_ horny right now," she tells me, her breathing becoming heavier, and I laugh in surprise.

"Think you got more than one in you?" I ask, tracing patterns on her hip, and she nods enthusiastically. I slide my hand in between us, stroking her gently, teasingly, watching her eyes roll back in her head as her mouth falls open. Her hips shift up to meet me just as I slide my fingers inside of her, a hiss of pleasure falling out of her lips as her fingers dig into my biceps. I love when she's responsive like this—makes my job a hell of a lot more fun.

I move my hand against her slowly, shifting my body off her slightly so I can get a better view. Her hips push against me insistently, her inner muscles clenching at my fingers, and I can tell she's already close. "Really?" I whisper, kissing her neck, nibbling on the soft flesh. She nods and whimpers, her hips coming off the bed. I pump my hand against her a few more times and her body is suddenly spasming against me, a low moan escaping her throat as finds her release, her fingers digging into me.

"You know," I whisper in her ear as her motions start to slow down, still moving my hand against her, in her, gently, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly. "I feel really, _really_ cocky when I make you come that quickly."

"As you should," she gasps. "As you should." I move down to kiss the tops of her breasts when she says suddenly, "Hey. How many orgasms do you think you can give me tonight?"

I lift my head to look at her. "You're that horny?"

"And then some," she assures me. "So how many?"

I pause to think about it—this could be interesting. "I'm gonna say…three."

"Really? I'm gonna go with four."

"You have high hopes for me."

"I have _confidence_ in you."

I shrug, bringing my lips down to her neck. If this is what she wants, then I'm more than happy to try to make it happen. I drag my mouth slowly down to her left shoulder, then down the outside of her arm, then just as slowly back up the inside. I kiss my way down her chest, wrapping my lips around her nipple for a few moments, sucking gently, and her hips move against my hand, which is still stroking her gently, my fingers still enveloped by her heat. I follow this path all the way down her body—down her stomach, her waist, her hip, down her leg and the bottom of her foot, before trailing my way up her inner leg, only moving my hand when I can replace it immediately with my mouth, gently nipping at her, suckling her, feeling her buck against me, for a few moments before I move my lips, sliding them down the inside of her right leg, moving my other hand against her. I get down to her foot when I hear her start to moan, wordlessly but continuously. I struggle to control myself, forcing myself to move just as slowly up her right leg as I did down her left. When I reach her hip, her hand finds its way to my hair, tugging at me, scratching my scalp. I slide my lips across her stomach, up to the underside of her right breast for a few moments before I pull her nipple into my mouth, sucking a little harder at this one, and her body suddenly freezes for a split second before she's nearly flying off the bed.

"Chandler! Oh, my God CHANDLER!" she yells, thrusting against my hand once more, and I keep my mouth wrapped around her, push my hand against her harder, trying to draw it out. "Ohhhhhhhhh," she moans as she pumps against me, beads of sweat suddenly bursting out all over her body. I love that she's so enthusiastic and so...noisy.

I move my lips up her neck, finally moving my hands away from her to stroke her sweaty body. "You're really easy tonight."

She laughs as she gasps, her body shaking. "I don't know why."

"I'm not complaining," I assure her. "Just observing."

She tugs at me, pulling me back on top of her, her thighs falling open to cradle me, her lips finding mine. All self-control I had is lost and I push into her, groaning at the intensity of it all. She clutches at my back for a few moments, her body tensing, and I pause. She relaxes a bit, and I look down at her, curious.

"Was that another one?"

"Almost," she pants. This really is good for my ego—after all these years, I can still get her to respond to me this quickly, this intensely, and it's unbelievable. This, along with a million other things is why we're so perfect together, why we make sense. And I've never gotten lazy with her—I always work to make sure I know what she needs, what her body needs, what her minds needs to make sex as good as possible each time. To the best of my knowledge, she's never faked it with me, and I want to keep on believing that until the day I die.

I move against her slowly—so slowly—pulling as far back as I can before sliding back in. My instincts want me to go faster, want me to make this happen as fast as possible, and it seems like of all nights, this would be the one where she'd be able to keep up with that sort of pace. But Monica's husband, the guy who loves her more than he ever thought possible, wants so desperately to be able to make love to his wife, to draw it out, because it doesn't get to happen as often as it used to.

So I fight for self control with every move I make.

I continue to pull out slowly, but start to slam back into her, making her gasp every time.

"Harder," she gasps, and I happily oblige, moving against her a little faster.

Her head tosses back and forth against the pillow as she starts to moan loudly, her arms reaching up to grab the headboard, her body thrusting up against mine. I brace my hands on the bed next to her, lifting my torso off hers to watch her, fascinated, captivated, my hips pushing against her more rapidly, my thrusts shorter, faster, stronger.

Her eyes fly open suddenly and she gazes at me, our eyes locking, and it's unnerving in the best way possible. I feel a familiar tingling all the way in the tips of my toes, and I push it back as best I can. Now that she's challenged me to four, I want to get her there.

I see her struggling to maintain eye contact, fighting off the urge to close her eyes. I change the angle of my hips, pushing farther into her, and she cries out, bucking against me sharply. I do it again, and she yells louder, bending her knees, bracing her feet against the bed, the angle changing again, and I grit my teeth in concentration, trying to focus on her, on what will make her squirm, and not focus on how rapidly her breasts are moving, bouncing with every thrust.

Her brow furrows as her moans grow louder, no words forming, just long, loud sounds of pleasure. She's so close—I can feel it in the tension of her body, the way her muscles clench around me, and I finally cop out. I drop my head to her breasts, pulling one into my mouth, and in an instant, she's screaming, her body pulling at mine, her hips slamming into me furiously, her back arching off the bed, her fingernails digging into my arms. Still, I fight it. It takes every ounce of self-control that I have, and some that I don't, and I feel dizzy from the effort—but I hold off my own orgasm.

I gasp against her, my own body trembling, my hips still as I wait for her to come back down, her volume decreasing gradually.

"Oh, Gooooooood," she moans, her hips thrusting against me for a moment, the aftershocks briefly taking control.

"I know," I answer, moving my head a little to nip at the soft skin of her breasts, and she moans again. "That's three, right?"

"Yeaaaaaaah," she drawls, trying to pull in deep breaths. "Can you hear the baby monitor?"

I lift my head up and strain my ears, trying to listen over the pounding of my own heartbeat. I can hear Erica snoring and Jack smacking his lips, so I settle back against her. "Still asleep," I confirm.

"That's hard to believe," she moans, stretching her body against mine.

"Good sleepers," I mumble. "Ready for number four?"

She laughs breathlessly. "I think so. I might die, but I think so."

"Good." I pull back to my knees suddenly, out of her completely, and she whines loudly in protest. "Sit up." I wait as she drags her body to a sitting position, her eyes still not completely focused. "On your knees." She groans, but does what I ask, and I slide over to her, pushing her against the headboard, my hands sliding around her waist. She moans into my mouth as her arms wrap around my back, bracing her knees on either side of my thighs. I shift against her and she shivers at the contact, tugging at my lip with her teeth. She slides a hand in between and gently takes hold of me, and I hiss through my clenched teeth, screwing my eyes shut. She guides me into her and sighs happily, the noise quickly morphing into a moan.

"Yessssssssssss," is all she says, and it's all I need to hear. I move my hips against her steadily, resting my forehead against her shoulder. She strokes my hair as she moans, rotating her hips every time she pushes against me. "Oh, God, yes."

I dig my fingers into her hips as I grunt against her skin. "You're so sexy, baby."

She moans louder, her fingers digging into my shoulder blades, her head falling back, and I kiss her throat, the noises she's making resonating against my lips.

I slow my movements, and she protests loudly, her hips moving faster against me, but I refuse to take the bait. I gently stroke her with my hands—her back, her sides, any part of her front I can reach—taking her in, trying to show her just how much she means to me, and I feel her quiver, allowing me to take my time.

Sex with her is great. Sex with Monica has always been great, but this is one of those times where it goes so much beyond this physical act. This connection we share—the connection we create—is incredibly powerful, and I swear sometimes I can actually feel our souls connecting. At the very least, there's some more going on that just chemistry and bodies reacting to one another; for just the briefest moments in time, we become one person, we complete each other, and it's so strong that it all makes me feel like I honestly can't take it, that I'll fall apart.

I still don't necessarily believe in soul mates, but I do believe that this woman was meant for me.

"Please," she moans suddenly, gasping. "Oh, please."

I move my hands to the headboard, shifting my knees further apart. "Hold on," I growl, and start pounding into her as fast as I can.

Her arms tighten around me, and I feel her thighs clench against my legs as she moves on top of me, her moans becoming louder and louder. I slow down for a few seconds, taking long, slow strokes, before driving into her again.

"Oh, God," she yells, mostly into my ear. "Oh, God. Oh, GOD! Yesyesyes right there, oh, my God, right there, baby, don't stop don't stop don't stop!"

I grunt against her neck, the skin salty with sweat, words beyond me at the moment. I clutch her tighter, move faster, suddenly desperate for a release. Her pace matches mine, our hips a flurry of movement as we slam against each other.

I hear her breath catch suddenly, her body moving at impossible speeds for a few moments before she screams out my name, her body arching against me once more, her inner muscles tugging at me, and I follow her a few moments later, gripping her tightly enough to leave bruises, my orgasm pouring over me, feeling like it'll never end, wishing it would never end.

I swallow heavily some long minutes later, realizing that I have her crushed against the headboard. I relax my grip a bit and she droops against me, her body still spasming.

"Jesus," I whisper. "That's the best sex we've had in a while."

"Unhhhh," she moans, and I grin—anytime she can't bring herself to speak after sex, I know a good time was had by all.

Cautiously, I shift my knees, trying to ease us down to a reclined position, when Monica gasps, her eyes flying open. "What?" I ask, stilling my movements.

She rocks her body against mine a couple of times and I realize what she's doing. "Seriously? Again?"

"Can't help it," she groans, her body starting to seize as she pushes against me faster. I stare at her in amazement. She buries her face in my neck and moans as her legs wrap around my waist. I hold her close and stroke her skin, kissing whatever part of her I can reach.

Finally, she really does collapse. "Okay—I'm done."

I can't help but chuckle as I pull out of her and we collapse against the bed. Immediately, she curls into my side and I kiss the top of her head, wrapping my arms around her. "Did you come?" I ask cheekily, and she bursts out laughing.

"Nope. Faked it all." She presses her lips to my neck, partly kissing, partly still gasping for air.

I squeeze her a little tighter. "But seriously—what was that?" I ask. "Was that number five?"

"I can't really say—I don't know if it was its own entity or just a continuation of number four. Felt pretty good, though." She's silent for a moment, and I can tell she's listening to the monitor. Amazingly, the nursery is still quiet. "I'm gonna have to check on them, make sure they're not traumatized by Mommy and Daddy having a good time." She groans. "Eventually. When I can move."

"We need to get it in while we can," I tell her. "In a couple of years, we'll have to remember to lock the door every time, and make sure we muffle our voices."

She scrunches her face and pulls the blanket over us, cuddling into me once more. I look down at her and see her eyes shifting around the room. "What is it?"

"Do you realize that our windows are open?"

I lift my head and look around. "Huh. Well, what do you know? I guess that means if any of our neighbors have their windows open, they got quite the show."

"If any of our neighbors have their windows open, they probably thought I was being murdered."

I laugh in agreement. "Yeah, it might be a few days before I can look at any of them again."

"Hell, we'll probably have a bunch of horny housewives beating down our door with baked goods."

I shake my head, then lean down to kiss her, our lips moving against each other slowly, smiles spreading across our faces.

"I love you so much," she tells me suddenly.

"Love you more," I answer.

"Not possible," she says, her head resting against my shoulder again, and we're quiet for a while, listening to the soft sounds of our babies sleeping through the monitor.

"It's a good thing I don't have to work tomorrow," she says suddenly.

"Why's that?"

"Because I don't think I'll be able to walk properly for a while."

Just like that, my ego inflates to ridiculous proportions once more. "You are welcome."

She laughs and props herself up on her elbow, her smile dazzling, and I swear I fall in love all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Our babies look silly, Mon."

"They look adorable," I correct, bending down and gently grabbing Jack's little foot through his Halloween costume, making him smile.

"All right," Chandler concedes. "They do look pretty cute. But they also look silly."

"They're itty bitty babies," I answer, grabbing Erica's foot and pretending to put it in my mouth. "They're supposed to look silly."

"You're doing the voice again."

I look up at Chandler and make a face; lately, when I get excited and try to talk to the babies at the same time, a strange little high-pitched voice comes out of me. Even I get annoyed by it, once I notice it. I'm sure that the pitch doesn't thrill my children, either. "Sorry. I can't help it, though—they bring it out in me."

"They look so…fluffy."

"Honey, they're babies. There's a very limited window of time where I can dress them in cutesie, squishy little Halloween costumes. I've always wanted to do this, so please…"

It's Jack and Erica's first Halloween, and I was terribly unoriginal and dressed them both in pumpkin costumes. It took me forever to decide what to dress them in—the costume choices for babies are endless—but when it came down to it, I've always been able to picture my baby dressed up like a pumpkin. Now, I have two.

They do look kind of fluffy, though, but that's the nature of the pumpkin. And judging by their happy, round little faces, my twins are okay with being fluffy.

"Well, at least you got the personalities right," he says, reaching out to tickle their bellies, earning larger grins and happy noises. Jack's pumpkin has a happy face; Erica's has a scary face.

"I thought it was appropriate, though I feel like I should be sticking up for my daughter somehow."

Chandler's arm wraps around me and I lean against him, sighing, as we watch our two little babies squirm and kick on the changing table. "We do this a lot," he mumbles.

"Can't be helped. They're just so cute."

"I won't argue that," he answers, squeezing my shoulder. He likes to harass me about going overboard with them, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Where's the camera?" I ask.

"In my pocket," he answers, and before he can reach for it, I slide my hand across the back of his jeans, checking the back pockets, before reaching into his far pocket, digging it out.

"You just felt me up in front of our children," he tells me, sounding affronted.

"Get over it." I turn the camera on, focusing it on the little pumpkins. "You liked it."

He reaches out to tickle Jack's foot. "You could have at least bought me dinner first."

"How about," I tell him casually, snapping a few pictures, "if I serve myself up for dessert later instead?"

I swear I hear him whimper, though he quickly clears his throat to cover it. "Will this involve whipped cream?"

"If you're good. But I think the cherry part is out."

He nearly chokes, his mouth hanging open as he stares at me. "When did you get so filthy?"

"I think it was somewhere between round four and five in London."

He shakes his head, then suddenly groans in disappointment. "We can't tonight."

"Why not? You have a better offer?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Rachel's here with Emma? Ross will be here with Ben soon?"

I echo his groan of disappointment. "We could still do it."

"Really? You think you can keep it down? During whipped cream sex?"

I wrinkle my nose; he has a point. I've been more enthusiastic than usual lately, and while it's one thing to assume our own children are sleeping through it, it's another thing entirely to assume my niece and nephew could sleep through it. "I could probably be quiet; I used to be quiet all the time."

"Quieter," he corrects me, taking Jack into his arms and kissing his little head. "You weren't even that good at it back then, you know. It's a wonder we managed to fool our friends for as long as we did, when you think about it."

I pick up Erica, who immediately drools down the front of my shirt. "Thank you, sweetie," I tell her, and she looks at me, a spit bubble popping out of her mouth. Chandler grabs a burp rag and cleans me up, only groping me for a couple of seconds in the process. He tosses the rag in the dirty clothes laundry basket then takes the camera out of my hand, putting it back in his pocket.

"You've gotten pretty good at dealing with life one-handed," I tell him, impressed, as we head down to the living room.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," he informs me, lifting Jack over his head, jiggling him gently.

"He's gonna puke on you."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Regardless, he brings the baby back down to his side. "So, run me through tonight's itinerary again."

"There's no 'itinerary." He looks at me doubtfully. "There's not! Ross is finishing up with that Halloween carnival thing at Ben's school—"

"Why aren't Rachel and Emma there?"

"They went this afternoon; that's why I picked them up on my way home from work." I sit down on the arm of the couch, bouncing Erica on my leg, smiling when she giggles. "Don't you pay attention to me when I talk to you?"

Chandler's eyes widen, alarmed that he may have been caught tuning me out. "I don't recall us having any such conversation."

"I'm screwing with you, honey."

He sits down on the couch, standing Jack up on his thighs, and narrows his eyes at me. "You're an evil woman."

"BAH!" Jack yells, hitting his hands against his father's arm.

I smile at Jack as Chandler nods his head. "That's right; bah, Mommy. Bah!" He holds out Jack's tiny hand, making him point a finger at me. I shake my head and lean over to kiss both of my guys.

"Anyway, once Ross gets here, we're making a small tour of our neighborhood—everyone wants to see the twins in costume, and when I told them about Ben and Emma, they wanted to meet them, too."

"Who's everyone? I don't know everyone."

"We know the same people—The Thompsons, the Gilberts…" My voice trails off as I realize I can't remember anyone's last names, and that I'm not even sure if the ones I've said are accurate. I know them by their first names, though, which I think is great progress. Chandler's looking at me with an eyebrow raised and I just shrug. "We'll go down a few houses in both directions and hit a few houses across the street. They'll have candy and stuff for Ben and Emma."

"Are they aware that Halloween is actually tomorrow, though?"

"Apparently, in the suburbs, Halloween is celebrated on the weekend, regardless of the day it actually falls on. I don't know—it's a thing. But that's about it. We'll make the rounds, make nice with these people, introduce our old friends to our new friends, maybe hit a few more houses for Ben's sake, then we'll come back here."

"And we're not taking the stroller," Chandler says doubtfully.

"We're not going far; this way we don't have to strap them in after every house; we can carry them. We'll have the little snuggly things in case, too. As long as the diaper bag is full, I think we'll be okay." I wiggle my daughter a little, smiling at her. "You think we'll be okay, right, Eri? Right, Eri?" I lean in and start kissing her cheeks, and she shrieks in my ear as she yanks my hair.

"That's a fun noise," Chandler says, shaking his head, his eyes wide.

"What? I'm sorry, I'm deaf now, I can't hear a word you said." Erica starts to babble, her grip on my hair tightening. "Okay." I peek at Chandler through my hair and see Jack bouncing up and down, hand stuffed in his mouth, drool dripping down his costume.

"I think they're ready for Halloween to start. Or they need an exorcist." Chandler grabs a tissue from the end table, trying to stop the flow of spit from Jack's mouth.

I stand up, slowly pulling Erica away from me, pulling my head back at the same time, and only succeed in being able to see her better as she tries to stuff her fist full of my hair in her mouth. I give my head a gentle tug, which only seems to encourage her to hold on tighter. I head over to the stairs, shifting the baby away from me as I yell. "Come on, Rache! Ross said he'd be here by six." Erica shrieks again, and I swear I can hear a ringing in my ear now. "Okay, you. Let's see if Daddy will make you happy."

"We'll be down in a second," I hear Rachel yell. "Emma wants to make a grand entrance."

I carefully walk back over to Chandler, trying to turn Erica to face him. "Look, baby; it's Daddy!" She makes a happy noise and finally lets go of my hair, and I stick her on Chandler's lap. I rub my scalp, already sore from my daughter's death grip.

"You okay?" he asks, wrapping an arm around each child and pulling them to his chest.

"Yeah. You're just lucky you don't have hair." I hold my hands out for Jack, and Chandler shifts him closer t o me. I give my head a little shake, hoping the hair is back far enough to avoid another incident and grab my son, making sure he's facing out so he can see things. He scrunches up his face and blows a raspberry, his legs still kicking.

"I have enough hair for them to grab," he assures me, sticking out his finger for Erica to grab onto, who is suddenly much quieter.

"Speaking of evil women," I say, gesturing toward her with my head, and Chandler just shrugs. I look down at Jack then point to his father. "Bah! Right, Jack? Bah!" He just looks up at me and blows another raspberry. "I get no respect."

"Calm down, Rodney Dangerfield. It's probably a full moon or something. I'm sure they'll be back on your side in no time at all."

Rachel's voice echoes down the stairs. "You guys ready?"

"Bring it," Chandler answers, and a few moments later Rachel appears with Emma in her arms, helping her down the stairs. At the landing, she puts her on the floor, and the little girl comes flying at us, stopping to twirl.

"Hi!" she exclaims, bouncing with joy.

"What a beautiful…" Chandler trails off, looking at Rachel for help. She mouths "fairy princess" and he nods. "Fairy princess!"

She just giggles and starts to twirl again, her wings flapping as her dress billows around her.

"Okay, okay," Rachel says, putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You're gonna make yourself sick."

"Candy, Mommy!"

Rachel nods, then gives us a look. "Have I mentioned how grateful I am that Joey taught her that word?"

"You look beautiful, Emma," I tell her, bending down to kiss her forehead. I can't believe she's closer to three than to two. Of course, I still have trouble believing my own children are now six months old.

Rachel notices the twins and gasps. "Oh, my God! They look so adorable!"

"I know," I answer, grinning, bouncing Jack back and forth, looking over at Chandler smugly. He just rolls his eyes and stands up, passing Erica off to Rachel.

"I'm gonna go make sure the bag is ready so we can head out when Ross gets here." He gives me a quick kiss, then boops Jack on his nose before heading upstairs.

"You guys are sickeningly cute—you know that, right?"

I nod, pressing my lips against Jack's head. I'm aware that Chandler and I can be pretty nauseating at times; I think adding kids to the mix has just made it worse.

I see Erica's hand stretch up to Rachel and my eyes widen. "Oh, hey, Rache; she's going to—" Too late; Erica grabs a handful of hair and yanks, causing Rachel to yelp, which startles Erica, whose face scrunches up just moments before she starts to cry. I sigh and shift Jack around an instant before he starts to cry, too, and take Erica from Rachel. I can see Rachel's mouth moving, telling me she's sorry, but I just shake my head, trying to soothe both babies at once.

The front door flies open and Ben comes running in, making Emma jump up and down and shout, "Ben! Ben!" Ross appears in the doorway right behind his son, looking confused. Chandler bounds down the stairs a moment later and hurries over to me, grabbing the first baby he comes to. "I can't leave you alone for two minutes, can I?"

I shake my head at him, trying to calm a screaming infant, Chandler doing the same, his eyes catching mine. He smiles at me a little, and I feel my lips curl in response. It may be crazy and full of screaming children, but I wouldn't have it any other way.


	6. Chapter 6

I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe, staring at my wife in the kitchen. She really is in her element in here. Even though I know she’s incredibly busy and has a million things going on, she doesn’t look frazzled or worried; she calmly checks each dish in turn, stirring and testing things occasionally, smiling to herself when something is to her liking.

We’ve been celebrating Thanksgiving together for years now—more than ten, actually—and it’s because of her that I’ve gone from hating this day to actually looking forward to it. At the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy, I just have so much to be thankful for now, this year more than any other.

It’s hard to believe that it was just a year ago that we got the call letting us know that someone was going to give us their baby—so much is different now, and all of it is so much better.

I also have a hard time remembering that Jack and Erica aren’t biologically ours; they feel like such a part of us, and there’s so much of us in them that it feels like the fact that another woman carried them is only a technicality.

I can’t help but chuckle as Monica bends over to check the turkey, looking extra tiny in her pajamas. She wouldn’t normally cook Thanksgiving dinner in anything but nice clothes—don’t ask me why—and she certainly would have never still been in her pajamas after ten in the morning at the very latest, and definitely not after noon, things are a bit different this year, and there’s not a lot of sense in putting on nice clothing when the kids are just going to hurl on us.

And, not that she would admit it, but she’s already taken a nap this morning; slept right through most of the parade.

In all fairness, she’s been up since five, cooking and taking care of two fussy babies, so I think she more than deserved the nap, but she’d still never admit to it.

I shake my head and sigh—she insists on being supermom, stretching herself to the breaking point, even though she’s already fantastic at the job. Jack and Erica took turns being sick over the last few weeks, which was a new, horrifying experience for the both of us, and, naturally, Monica caught it. I mean, I had a cough for a few days, but she definitely bore the brunt of it. While we figured out early on that they both prefer their mother when they’re tired and fussy—she has the magic touch, I swear—it’s even truer when they’re sick. There was little I could do to soothe them; it was all Monica. I’ve never felt so helpless, but she did it without complaining—she’d rock them and sing to them and sit up with them for hours, first while Erica was sick, then with Jack, and has been pushing through her own illness for the last several days.

The only part that’s been frustrating to me is that there’s absolutely nothing I can do to be of help. I’m just not Mommy. For the last two, almost three, weeks, she’s been doing the bulk of the work on her own, and she’s been incredible; the twins are pretty much back up to speed, and Monica seems to be over the hump, still pretty exhausted, but mostly healthy.

So, in my opinion, that nap was well-earned.

She looks up at me and smiles. “You going to stand there all day, or are you going to help me?”

“Do you actually want my help in here?” I ask, surprised.

She looks around for a moment, then shrugs. “Actually, no. The turkey still has another couple of hours, most of the stuff that needs to be ready is ready, and anything else needs to wait until closer to dinner time. I think I’m actually ahead of the game.”

I look at the clock—it’s just after one. Dinner isn’t until four, which means everyone won’t show up until three at the earliest. “That’s pretty impressive, honey.”

“Well, it’s amazing what I can accomplish in this kitchen,” she says, gesturing around. This room was one of the biggest selling points for her when we were house hunting; it’s much, _much_ bigger than the one in our apartment, and it has plenty of space for us to add in the things that Monica will want and need.

I just nod and pull her into a hug, kissing her forehead as I try to covertly check her temperature. She feels pretty normal, which is a relief. Her arms wrap around my neck as she stands on tiptoes, kissing me gently. I’m surprised, but I kiss her back.

“I guess you’re feeling better,” I mumble against her mouth, and she nods as she smiles.

“I’m feeling _a lot_ better,” she answers, pushing her hips against mine.

“Really? You want to?”

She shrugs, kissing me again. “It’s been a few weeks. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty ansty.”

“Well, yeah, but are you sure you’re up for it?” I feel my body react to her despite my concerns; we haven’t had sex since before the twins got sick, and while it really was the farthest thing from my mind at that point, now that she’s brought it up...

She nods, her hands stroking my hair. “I’m feeling much better; no fever, as you noticed, no chills, no cough, just tired, which I’m pretty sure will be our general state of being for the next eighteen or so years. The twins are napping, we’ve got some time to kill, so…”

“Most romantic proposition ever, by the way,” I tell her, my hands sliding under her pajama top only to be met with a tank top underneath. “How many layers are you wearing?”

“Just those two,” she answers, her hands sliding down my chest to my waist, her fingers playing with the belt loops on my jeans. “It’s almost December—it can get cold.”

“It’s just more work for me,” I tell her, my fingers already working at the buttons on her top, sliding it off her shoulders once it’s open. I move one of the tank top’s straps out of the way as I kiss down her neck to her shoulder, and she makes a happy noise. “You’re able to turn me on far too quickly. Shouldn’t this have mellowed out by now?”

“Actually,” she says as she tilts her head to one side. “I read recently that married couples usually have more frequent, better, and often more adventurous sex than non-married couples.”

I pull back and look at her in surprise, smiling. “Really?”

She nods as her hands slide under my thermal shirt, her nails gently scratching my stomach. “It’s true. I don’t think we’re supposed to be less attracted to each other as the years go by. Personally, I want you more today than I did at the beginning.”

“Well, that’s true.” I stroke her hair back from her face. “You’re definitely sexier now than you ever have been.”

“The fact that you can say that to me with a straight face right now must mean it’s love.”

“It _is_ love,” I assure her. “But you are definitely sexier than hell.” I see her roll her eyes as I lean in to kiss her again. She may think I’m exaggerating, but this woman really does get more beautiful to me by the day. There’s never been a day that I’ve wanted her less than the day before; we may not want each other as urgently as we did back in the beginning, but there’s no doubt that we still do it for each other.

She grabs the baby monitor off the counter and takes my hand, surprising me by leading me into the laundry room. She shuts the door partway, putting the monitor on the shelf, before wrapping herself around me again. “One of the best things about our house,” she tells me, kissing her way across my neck, “is that we can have sex in privacy. We don’t have to worry about someone wandering across the hall any time they feel like it; the whole place is ours.”

“Mmmmm,” is all I can say, my mind already turning hazy with desire. I grab my shirt, yanking it over my head and tossing it off into the corner of the room. Technically, I don’t have to get completely or even mostly naked for this, but I’ve discovered over the years that I much prefer skin-to-skin contact with Monica. I take the bottom of her shirt in my hands and pull it off, throwing it in the general direction of mine, and I take a moment to appreciate her, my hands skimming up and down her sides, watching her shiver beneath my touch.

She starts to work on my pants, and I gasp a little as her hands slide over me, but let her push them down my legs, my underwear right behind. I kick them away from me as I slide my hand down her pajama pants, the other wrapping around her back, and stroke her gently. Her eyes flutter shut as she moans, pushing against my hand. I kiss her again, pushing her until her back hits the washing machine. Her leg wraps around the back of mine as she pushes against me harder for a few moments, before whispering, “Naked.”

I grab her bottoms and her underwear, yanking them down her legs. She stands on tiptoe once more, trying to reach me, trying to be closer. I grab the backs of her thighs and pick her up for a moment before sitting her on the washing machine. “Kinky,” she says, grinning at me. “Want me to turn on the spin cycle?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Maybe later.” I kiss down her chest, my lips headed toward her breasts, the objects of my fantasies for so many years. It doesn’t hurt that she gets wildly turned on by it, either. I take her nipple in my mouth and she hisses, shoving at my shoulder.

“Too sensitive today,” she says, panting.

“What about around them?” I ask, and I can hear the desperation in my voice—it kind of turns me on as much as it usually turns her on.

“Try it.”

Tentatively, I move my lips across her breasts, hoping for a positive reaction this time, relieved when she moans and arches her back, increasing the contact.

Her hand slides between us and I groan when I feel her fingers gently sliding up and down me.

“I’m ready when you are,” she whispers.

“No foreplay?”

“No, I’m pretty set right now.” She gives me a gentle tug, pulling me toward her, and I push into her slowly, shuddering as she envelops me. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and I grunt as I bury myself in her up to the hilt.

“Jesus, Mon. Trying to kill me?” I gasp.

She gently rocks her hips against me, moaning. “I just need you. I need you so bad.”

I drag my hands roughly up her back, tangling in her hair, holding her head steady as I kiss her. I feel her push against me again, but she has very little leverage from this angle. Her legs tighten around me, her ankles crossing at the small of my back, and I pull my lips away, panting. I slide one hand down her thigh, her calf, until I reach her foot, and I give it a nudge. “I need to be able to move, honey.”

Her legs loosen a bit and I immediately start to move against her. Her fingers dig into my arms as she moans, her head falling back. I kiss her throat as my hands move to her hips, holding her steady as I drive into her.

“It’s only been a few weeks,” she gasps, “but I missed this so much.”

I don’t trust myself to answer at this point—all of my concentration goes into holding off so I don’t embarrass myself. I don’t know if I can help it, though—she feels so incredible, her muscles clenching around me, her skin so soft, her lips so inviting. Three weeks isn’t _that_ long to go without sex, not in the grand scheme of things, but at this moment, it feels like it’s been forever.

My hips speed up involuntarily and she gasps, my name tumbling from her lips.

“I think I’m about to be in trouble,” I warn her.

“Think about Janice,” she groans, and I feel like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over me.

I look at her in disbelief. “Why would you—why?”

“Got your mind off of it, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…ew.”

She laughs and strokes my cheek, and I push the damp hair off her forehead. “Okay, so now try to remember that you’re actually _inside_ of me.”

My body tenses as I react to her words more than anything else. “Now I’m right back to where we left off.”

She wiggles her hips and I groan in protest. She pushes against me and I feel my hips start to move again. I press my forehead against hers as we gasp for air. I bring my hand in between our bodies and stroke her, gently for a moment but soon with more urgency. Her body jerks against my ministrations and she cries out. “YES!”

I may not be able to last much longer, but at least I should be able to take her with me.

I move my fingers against her furiously as I pound into her, the washing machine thumping as the force of my thrusts causes it to move bit by bit.

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” she moans as her fingers scratch at my back, her face buried in my neck. I feel myself tingling all over and push against her hard, my fingers moving faster. “Oh, GOD!”

“Please tell me you’re close,” I beg, panting. “Oh, God, please be close. I don’t think—”

I’m interrupted by Monica yelling out my name, her voice echoing off the tiled walls, as she pushes against me as hard and as fast as she can. I follow immediately, my hips slamming into hers a few more times before I empty myself into her, my movements becoming sloppy as I lose control. I feel her legs lose their grip on my hips moments later, her body growing slack, and I collapse on top of her, pushing her body onto the surface the washing machine.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her hair. “I’ll do it better next time.”

“Call me crazy,” she whispers back, “but that was pretty damn good _this_ time. Not saying we can’t do it again later tonight, but don’t think that wasn’t amazing.”

I kiss her neck and wrap my arms around her back, bringing us both back to an upright position. Her arms wrap around me as our breathing starts to return to normal. “I love you,” I tell her, and I can feel her smile against my skin.

“I love you, too.” Her hands gently stroke my back, both of us quiet, enjoying the moment. “Hey, what’s the name of the people who live behind us?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. The Wrights? The Wrongs?”

“Waynewright!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, that’s it. Why?”

“Well,” she gestures out the window next to us toward our backyard. “I don’t think they’re home right now, but they can probably see into our laundry room from their kitchen.”

I turn my head in her direction. “Huh. Yeah, it’s probably a safe bet.”

“If they’re home, they just got a hell of a show.”

I chuckle in agreement. “Maybe we should invest in some curtains,” I suggest.

She laughs and nods, kissing my shoulder. I take her face in my hands and kiss her slowly, gently, for a few minutes until we hear noise coming from the baby monitor.

“Jack’s up,” she whispers. “That means Erica won’t be far behind.”

“I’ll get them,” I offer, finally pulling back from Monica, and she groans a little as I leave her body. I help her off the washing machine and grab our clothes, and we tug them on over our sweaty, spent bodies.

I would love to be able to go another round with my wife, or at least be able to touch her soft skin for a while, but for now, duty calls.


	7. Chapter 7

My eyes open as the bed bounces next to me and I fly into a sitting position, looking around rapidly, alarmed.

“Whoa! Monica! It’s just me!”

My eyes focus on Chandler and I feel panic rise up in my throat. “What’s wrong? Why are you home so early? Did something happen?”

He puts his hand on my shoulder, confused. “Home early? Monica, it’s after five—this is the same time I get home every Wednesday.”

I blink at him a few times, his words not completely sinking it. “It’s after five?”

“Yeah,” he tells me, looking out the window and I follow his gaze; it’s already dark out.

I feel my heartbeat start to return to normal. “It’s after five?” I ask again.

He chuckles and leans in to kiss me. “Good nap?”

“I guess—oh, my God! Jack and Erica! They—”

Chandler cuts me off, trying to keep me calm. “Are fine. I already checked on them.”

“They’re okay?”

“Yeah. Mon—are _you_ okay?”

“I think so. I’m just out of it, I guess.” I can’t get my brain to focus—I think I’m still trying to process actually being awake.

“How long were you asleep?”

I pause, trying to remember even lying down. “I came in here after I put them down for their nap, so…almost four hours?”

His eyes grow wide, filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I shrug, rubbing my eyes. “I didn’t realize I was that tired. I don’t remember even sitting down. Are you sure they’re all right?”

“Sure I’m sure; they’re both entertaining themselves in their cribs.”

I feel very unsettled and disoriented.

“Monica, what’s up?”

I shake my head. “Maybe it’s that bug I got from the twins.”

“Yeah, that was weeks ago.”

“Maybe it’s a different bug. I’m sure they’re exposed to all sorts of germs at daycare, so maybe they’re bringing them home. I don’t know—maybe I’m just tired.”

“Maybe,” he says slowly, his hand coming up to stroke my hair. “Hey, wasn’t it just last weekend you stayed home from work because you were violently ill?”

“I wasn’t violently ill,” I tell him. “I was just sick. I couldn’t be at work if I was throwing up everywhere; it’s kind of a biohazard.” He wrinkles his nose and I bite the inside of my cheek—that wasn’t the only day I was sick, but it _was _the only day I stayed home because it. I just didn’t think I needed to get him worried over a stomach bug.

Thinking that’s the end of it, I go to stand up when he slides next to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Mon, when was your last period?”

I give him a look. “I just had it this we…” My voice trails off as I realize that I _haven’t_ had it this week. Really, I should just be finishing up right about now. “Well, I’m _supposed_ to have it this week.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, staring at me. “So, the last one was…”

I sigh, exasperated. “What are you getting at, Chandler?”

“Just…when was it?”

I open my mouth to tell him it was in November, but my mouth closes again in a moment when I realize that I don’t remember it happening in then. In all fairness, though, both of my babies were sick, I was sick, Chandler was sick, Thanksgiving was happening, all of our friends and family were here, there was a lot going on. It probably happened then.

Still, I don’t actually remember it.

Well, then it was probably in October. No, it was definitely October.

I think.

I _do_ remember it happening in September, though I don’t know why that one stands out.

“Monica?”

I look up at him and bite my lip.

“The last one I remember is September,” he tells me.

“What’s your point?”

He looks at me incredulously. “My point? _My point_?” A smile starts to spread across his face. “Monica, you’re pr—”

I stand up abruptly, my brain finally connecting the dots. “No, I’m not! Don’t say it—don’t even think it.” With that, I walk out of our room and go to the nursery, pausing just inside the door to take a couple of deep breaths. “Nope,” I whisper, heading over to Jack. “Hi, sweetheart.” He looks up at me and smiles, and I reach out and stroke his head. “Mommy’s sorry she left you in here for so long.” As I’m taking him out of his crib, Chandler appears in the door, looking confused.

“What was that?”

I ignore him and bring Jack over to the changing table to put him in a new diaper. Chandler slowly walks over to Erica and lifts her out of her crib, kissing her belly before placing her on the table next to Jack. Side by side we put the two of them in new diapers.

“Mon—”

“I mean it, Chandler. Don’t say it.” I pick up Jack and leave the room, heading downstairs. I can hear Chandler following me. I put Jack in his high chair and grab a couple of jars of baby food out of the cabinet. When I turn around, Chandler is standing in front of me, Erica still in his arms.

“Monica, stop.”

“I can’t, Chandler. Okay?”

“But you’re—”

“No, I’m not.”

“Why are you being this way?”

“Because I _can’t _get…you know.”

“Pregnant?”

That’s the first time the word’s been said out loud; I feel panic well up in me, and I start shaking my head. “I can’t…”

He puts Erica in her high chair and turns back to me. “Actually, Dr. Connelly never said you couldn’t get pregnant, just that it’d be a long shot.”

I feel tears well up in my eyes, and I try to fight them back. “I can’t do this, Chandler.”

He rests his hands gently on my waist, squeezing softly. “Do what? Have another baby?”

“No—I can’t let myself get excited about it, or even let myself think about it, only to have it all just be a fantasy. I can’t.”

“Honey…who says it’s a fantasy?”

“Because that’s all it’s ever been, hasn’t it? We tried—actively tried—for over a year. Nothing. Always nothing. So just because, what? I can’t actually remember having a period last month I’m…” I still can’t bring myself to say it. Saying it will make it real, and if it’s real, I’ll start to hope, and I can’t handle having those few moments where I let myself believe it could be happening only to have it taken away from me.

I feel tears leak out of my eyes and Chandler’s arms wrap around me. I know he’s confused by my reaction, but I’m just as confused by his. How can he so readily, so easily, think it after all the heartbreak we’ve been through with this?

“We could have done it, you know,” he whispers. “We could have made a baby.”

I shake my head and pull away, swiping at my eyes as I drag one of the kitchen chairs in front of the twins. “We didn’t,” I say firmly, my hands shaking as I try to open a jar of baby food. “Look; I’ve mostly come to terms with the fact that we’ll never be able to…conceive. We have two amazing children; we’ve started talking about adopting more. There’s no sense in getting all excited over a pipe dream.”

He pulls over a chair and sits down next me, taking the jar out of my shaking hands, opening it for me. “Okay, just _think_ about what I’m saying. It’s been three months since either of us can remember your period, right? So that would mean it’s been about two and a half months. Since then, you’ve been completely exhausted—”

I cut him off. “I was sick! I had the flu or whatever it was the twins had. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He carries on, ignoring me. “You’re still exhausted, to the point where you took a four hour nap today. I’m guessing that whatever ‘bug’ you had this past weekend was more like morning sickness—”

“Don’t do this, Chandler. I can’t watch your heartbreak over this—I can’t.” I turn to face the twins, carefully taking little spoonfuls of food and bringing it to their lips. I feel his hand rest gently on the back of my head.

“I just feel like this is it…that we made a baby.”

“And how many times did we get that feeling before? How many times were we _sure_ that it took? Every time, Chandler. Every single damn time, and I can’t do this again.” Even so, my mind is racing, putting together all the things he mentioned, and even some that he hasn’t. Maybe I haven’t actually been sick every time, but there have been more mornings than I’ve even thought about lately when I’ve woken up nauseated; I just chalked up to lack of sleep.

And, I guess my breasts have been excessively sensitive, but that doesn’t mean anything. Women’s bodies can be very fluid, and sometimes things that normally react one way will react differently.

I suppose I’ve also been eating a lot more lately, even though I’m fairly certain I’ve lost weight.

But none of that means anything.

Except, when you put it all together, it kind of does.

I feel tears fill my eyes as a tiny seed of hope burrows into my chest. I do my best to squash it.

“I can’t let myself think this is real,” I whisper, trying my best to feed Jack and Erica who, one way or another, look like they’re picking up on Mommy’s mood.

“Well, we can find out.”

“Oh, you mean take another pregnancy test? Sit here and wait for five minutes, biting our nails, jumping out of our skin, just to have it come back negative? Chandler, there are so many other reasons why all of these things are happening. Don’t get your hopes up.”

He sighs and stands up, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He flips it open and I see him scrolling through phone numbers.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Dr. Connelly,” he says matter-of-factly and I just shake my head.

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Jesus, Monica, stop being so stubborn about this.”

“I’m not being stubborn—I’m realistic. This way, my heart can’t feel like it’s being torn out of my chest when we realize that it’s not true.” My heart hurts just thinking about it, new tears filling my eyes even as I realize this is the first time in my entire life that all of the signs point to “pregnant.” “You’re just being _way_ too optimistic about this. I can’t believe that after everything we’ve been through, you’re so willing to think this is a possibility.”

“I know you, Monica. I know everything about you. Maybe you’re too close to see it, but now that I’ve connected all the dots, there’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re pregnant.”

“I told you not to say it. If you say it, it makes it real, and then I start to get my hopes up and I told you that _I cannot handle that_.”

He presses “send” on his phone, staring at me. A few moments later, he says, “Hi, Angie, it’s Chandler Bing. Can I talk to Dr. Connelly please? It’s extremely urgent…Thanks.” He keeps his eyes focused on me and finally I look away, concentrating on our children.

“Hey, Doc, it’s…yeah…Yeah, I think so….Well, I think Monica’s pregnant….No, she’s in denial…uh-huh…uh-huh…Okay…Let me check.” He moves the phone away from his mouth for a second. “Hey, Mon—he said he can see us tomorrow morning at seven.”

“We don’t need to go to the doctor,” I say through gritted teeth.

Once again, he ignores me. “Yeah, we’ll be there…I will…Okay…Okay, thanks…Yeah, see you then.” He closes his phone, putting it on the table. “He has early morning spots for emergencies so he’s going to see us tomorrow. He said that I should go and buy some pregnancy tests for you to take now, and for you to take another in the morning. He said that even if you’re not—which you are—that there’s still something causing these symptoms and he wants to check anyway. Can you live with that?”

I sniffle a couple of times before I start sobbing. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared. Please don’t be upset with me.”

He wraps his arms around me and I cry into his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s scary to hope. But I really do think this is it for us. I’m gonna run down to the store and buy as many different tests as I can find, okay? And I’m gonna pick up some dinner for us, too, because I’m pretty sure neither of us are in any state of mind right now to cook.”

I nod, feeling my tears subside a little. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Anything in particular you want?”

I shrug. “Chinese? Get whatever—one way or another, it’s probably not really going to matter.”

He takes my face in his hands, and I can see the hope in his eyes. “I love you.”

I nod, feeling my breath hitch. “I love you, too.”

He gives me a quick kiss before standing up. “Think happy thoughts.” He goes to the fridge and brings me a bottle of water. “Hydrate. I’m not kidding when I say I’m going to get a bunch of these things.” He bends over and kisses first Jack then Erica, telling them each that he loves them before I see him pulling out his phone to call the Chinese food place.

“Be careful,” I call after him; the last thing I want is for him to be distracted by this while driving. I hear the door shut behind him and I turn back to the twins, who are staring at me with what I swear are worried looks.

Though I’m probably projecting.

“Hi Loves. Mommy’s sorry about today.” I bring a spoonful of food to Jack’s mouth; most of it manages to stay in. “Things are just a little crazy, you know?” I spoon food into Erica’s mouth; moments later, she lets it drool down her chin. “Daddy thinks Mommy is going to have a baby,” I tell them, wiping off my daughter’s chin with her bib. Jack bangs on his tray and I give him another mouthful. “I know. It’s crazy. It can’t happen, right?” Erica spits out most of her next mouthful of food and giggles. “We have enough with the two of you right now, don’t we? Mommy’s not an octopus; she can’t hold three of you at once.” I open up the next jar of food, not at all surprised that they’re this hungry. “What do you think, guys? You want a little brother or sister?” Jack purses his lips and blows, tiny spit bubbles flying everywhere. “Huh—is that a no?” I see Erica’s hand reach for the empty jar and I snatch it away quickly, earning me an offended noise in the process. “Don’t worry, baby girl—if Mommy has a baby, there will still be food for you.”

I sigh and lean back a little, trying to wrap my mind around everything, trying so hard not to hope, and failing miserably in the process; the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I don’t want it to, but it all adds up.

“Don’t think I don’t want it to be true,” I tell them, trying to keep up with their appetites. “Mommy and Daddy want more of you little guys. We really do. But the stork is going to have to bring them to us, just like you two. And that’s okay.”

I keep trying and trying to convince myself that Chandler’s wrong, that all the signs are wrong, that it’s stupid to dream.

Jack finally turns his head away from the spoon, full. Erica’s mouth opens for more. “Well, of course you’re still hungry; you keep spitting out what I put in.” I finish off the jar with her, though I’ll have to get a bottle ready for her anyway. Jack has been very enthusiastic about solid food while Erica’s only lukewarm about it; she still seems to prefer a bottle, but that’s supposed to be okay. Even though they’re twins, they not likely to take all the same developmental steps at the same time.

I wipe their mouths then lift Jack out of his chair, putting him on the ground at my feet, blocking his path with my foot as I grab Erica. I squat to the ground and grab my son who, fortunately, comes with me willingly. I bring them out to the living room and plop them in their playpen while I go heat up a bottle, which is something I can fortunately do in my sleep by this point because I have zero focus on menial tasks at the moment.

I realize my hand is resting on my stomach and I move it away abruptly, irritated with myself. “Stop it, Monica,” I whisper, taking the bottle out of the microwave and go back to the living room. I start to grab Erica, but I hate to leave Jack in the playpen on his own. I grab one of the carriers out of the hall closet and buckle him in; ordinarily, I’d let him play on the floor and test his little motor skills, but I’m pretty sure I’m not in the right frame of mind right now to be able to split my focus that way. I pull Erica into my arms and sit on the floor next to Jack, her hands reaching for the bottle as I aim toward her mouth. I balance both her and her bottle in one arm and put my other hand on Jack’s carrier, rocking him back and forth. I should be talking to them right now, trying to engage them, but I’m just too distracted.

I rest my hand on Jack’s tummy and sigh. “We could do this, right, guys? We could be a family of five. Mommy could be…pregnant, right?” That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud all night. It sounds foreign, unfamiliar; it’s a word I’ve stopped associating with myself, mostly out of self-preservation. I kiss Erica’s forehead, wrinkled in concentration. Both of my kids take their food seriously.

I’m startled when I hear the key in the door, surprised that Chandler’s home already. “That was fast.”

“I was motivated. How are you doing?”

I shrug, and Erica makes a little noise as she shifts with me. “Okay, I think. Weirded out. Scared.”

He nods, putting his bags on the coffee table before hanging up his jacket. “I’ll take over baby-duty. You go take the tests. Jack need a bottle?”

“He’ll probably want one,” I answer, handing the baby off to Chandler. I move to stand up and my vision swims for a second, so I grab Chandler’s shoulder. He looks at me with his eyebrow raised. “Head rush. It’s nothing.” Even as I say it, I can’t help but wonder if that’s actually true.

I grab the grocery bag off the table, my mouth dropping open when I look inside. “How many did you get?”

“Eight,” he answers, taking my spot on the floor. “Six for tonight, two for the morning.”

“Do you really think I can generate enough pee for _six_ pregnancy tests?”

“I believe in you.”

I make a face at him, which he ignores, and take the bag with me into the downstairs bathroom. I pull out box after box, each with a different name, all with the same question. I open all but two, lining them up on the counter, each test on its box, the order of it helping ease my mind. I take a deep breath and take the first test, the rest following quickly behind it, hoping I’ve been able to do it successfully; it’s hard to pee on a stick when your hands won’t stop shaking, but considering I haven’t set foot inside a bathroom since before I put the twins down for their nap, hydrating further was unnecessary.

I refuse to look at the tests as I wash my hands; sometimes the results show up quickly and that freaks me out more than anything.

I grab a timer out of the kitchen, setting it for five minutes as I go back to the living room. Most of the tests probably won’t need the full five minutes, but for simplicity’s sake I go with it. Chandler’s already giving Jack a bottle; Erica’s on the floor next to him, scooting back and forth on her knees as she tries to figure out how to crawl.

“Once she’s mobile, it’s all over,” I tell him, sitting on the floor next to him.

“I’m aware. Hell on wheels is going to be her new name.”

“We’ll have to get more baby gates. Maybe see if we can find some way to pad the edges of things so they don’t crack their little heads open.”

He nods in agreement, shifting Jack a little in his arms, but doesn’t say anything.

“Erica.” I say to my daughter, and she pauses her rocking for a moment, not sure where the voice is coming from. “Erica.” Her arms collapse, her little butt still in the air, and she presses the side of her face to the rug, her eyes lighting up when she sees me, the beginnings of two tiny little bottom teeth peeking out as she grins . I can’t help but smile back at her; every time they smile just because they see me, my heart feels like it’s going to explode. “Hi.”

She pushes herself back up on her hands, and I move a teething ring a few feet away from her, hoping she’ll start to get the hang of crawling.

“How long has it been?” Chandler asks suddenly.

I look at the timer. “Two minutes.”

“How long did you set it for?”

“Five.”

He groans, his head falling back for a moment. “Longest five minutes of our lives.”

I feel nausea curling in the pit of my stomach, though right now I’m positive it’s from nerves.

My foot starts to jiggle, my entire leg bouncing from anxiety. I hear Chandler taking deep, controlled breaths next to me. Erica’s still rocking back and forth on the floor, trying to gain momentum. Jack turns his face from the bottle, refusing when Chandler tires again.

“Hungry?” he finally asks me.

I shake my head. “Not even a little bit.”

“How long has it been now?”

“Two and a half minutes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Now it’s two thirty-five.”

“Can you check them early?”

“Not if you want to make sure we get the correct results.”

We fall silent again, conversation nearly impossible. I’ve always seen this sort of thing in movies and TV, where time passes impossibly slowly as the couple waits for the test results, and I always thought it was a load of crap; I’ve taken these tests before, and I was always able to find some way to occupy my time while I waited. Of course, the last time I took a test was before we found out about our conception issues; things didn’t seem nearly as…heavy back then.

I stare at the timer, willing the seconds to pass faster. I need this to be over; I need to know that Chandler was wrong about this so we can move on and figure out what’s going on with me.

I bury my face in my hands and make a frustrated noise. I hear Chandler stand up and head the kitchen, coming back moments later with plates, making several more trips to get what we’ll need to eat dinner, Jack still in one arm. I peek between my fingers and see Erica still in the same spot, her face a mixture of excitement and frustration.

I can relate.

The timer dings and my heart drops into my stomach.

I look up at Chandler; I can’t read the expression on his face.

My heart starts to jackhammer.

He puts Jack in the playpen then puts Erica with him. He holds out his hands to me, helping me stand. Up close, I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I suddenly feel like I can’t move.

He pulls me into his arms, and I can hear his heart pounding beneath his shirt. “Whatever happens, Monica, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispers. ”_We’re_ gonna be okay.”

I nod and swallow heavily, slowly disentangling myself from his arms. I walk to the bathroom and pause when I get to the door, my hand frozen on the knob for several long moments, that stupid little kernel of hope suddenly getting bigger.

Finally, I push the door open.

I keep my distance from the tests as the door falls shut behind me, afraid to look. I take a few steps forward and close my eyes, breathing deeply.

I open my eyes and look at the tests.

A moment later, a sob bubbles out of me. One arm wraps around my waist, the other hand clamping against my mouth as the tears come even harder, my knees suddenly weak.

A few seconds later, I hear Chandler on the other side of the door. “Monica?” He sounds panicked. “Monica, what is it?”

I open the door to face him, concern etched all over his features. I open my mouth, trying to speak, but nothing comes out. I stagger into his arms, shaking my head, and I feel him sag against me.

“Oh, honey…oh, honey, I…” his voice trails off, and I look up at him. His eyes are sad, his mouth downturned.

“They’re all positive,” I whisper.

He blinks at me. “What?”

“They’re all positive. All of them.”

“Are you serious?”

I smile even as I cry harder. “I’m pregnant.” The word still feels foreign, but now it sounds beautiful, too.

Chandler laughs happily. “Oh, my God. You’re pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant.” I say it again because I just can’t believe it. My knees finally give out and we slowly collapse to the floor, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“We’re going to have a baby,” I tell him, the smile splitting my face.

“We’re having a baby,” he repeats. He pulls back to look at me, grinning from ear to ear, tears in his eyes. “We’re having a baby.”

Another sob escapes me as I nod, and I bury my face in his neck.

We’re having a baby.


	8. Chapter 8

It took every ounce of self-control I have to not speed home. A level of control I didn’t know I possessed.

It’s taking even more self-control to sit on the floor next to Monica and wait for five minutes to pass.

I bought way too many pregnancy tests, but I want us to be sure.

I try to focus on Jack, who looks so serious as he drinks his bottle, but at the moment, it’s only marginally helpful. I look over at Erica, who looks like she’s trying like hell how to figure out crawling. Jack turns his face from the bottle suddenly, finished, and I place him at my shoulder, rubbing his back gently.

“Hungry?” I ask Monica, even though I already know the answer. I just need to pass the time.

She shakes her head. “Not even a little bit.”

“How long has it been now?”

She looks at the timer. “Two and a half minutes.”

It’s really only been thirty seconds since I last asked her the time? The universe is being a bastard.

“You’re kidding.”

She shrugs. “Now it’s two thirty-five.”

“Can you check them early?”

“Not if you want to make sure we get the correct results.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye; she looks pale, her face tense with worry, her foot tapping anxiously.

I look back at the timer, which I swear is now moving in reverse.

This is impossible.

I’m almost completely positive I know what the results are going to be; Monica’s pregnant. I’ve never been so sure of it. All these little things over the past few months just sort of added up tonight, and it all makes sense.

But there’s this tiny little part of me that’s scared out of mind and that has to acknowledge Monica’s right, that all of these things are just a coincidence that could mean a lot of other things.

I hate that she’s so sure that she can’t possibly be pregnant, but I _do_ understand why. We’ve been through so much the last couple of years; finding out that we’d probably never conceive was one of the hardest things either of us have ever had to deal with. But, we wound up with the two greatest babies anyone could possibly hope for. It’s hard to hope for a miracle.

I just feel so sure about this; I wouldn’t put her through this, put _us_ through this, if I wasn’t convinced that I’m right.

Finally, I stand up and go to the kitchen, Jack still in my arms, and rummage through the cabinets for plates. I bring them back out to the living room and put them on the coffee table. Monica has her face buried in her hands, her breathing rapid. I go back to the kitchen to grab silverware and napkins and pause for a moment. If I’m wrong about this…Monica will be beyond crushed. I can’t think of much of anything that would hurt worse at this point.

I kiss the top of Jack’s head, whispering, “Daddy’s right about this, little guy. I know it. You’re going to be a big brother.”

I walk back out to the living room and put the silverware down, trying to arrange it in some manner that won’t make Monica’s head explode, when the timer dings.

I freeze, my heart in my throat. Monica looks up at me, her face even paler than before.

As calmly as I can, I put Jack in the playpen, then put Erica in there with him. Whatever the results might be, we’ll need a few minutes, and it’s a much better idea to put the twins where they’ll be safe.

I feel my breathing speed up, as close to hyperventilating as a person can get.

I hold out my hands to Monica, offering to help her up, and I see her hands shaking as she reaches out for me. As adamantly as she’s been denying it all evening, part of her is starting to believe it. I pull her into my arms, holding her tight for a few moments. “Whatever happens, Monica, it’s gonna be okay. _We’re_ gonna be okay.”

She nods her head and pulls out of my arms, slowly trudging to the bathroom. She hesitates for a few moments before turning the knob and going inside, the door swinging shut behind her. I want to go with her, but I’m frozen in place.

I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, the moments stretching out into eternity. I think I’m going to be sick.

Suddenly, I hear Monica sobbing and I rush over to the door, afraid to go in, afraid not to.

“Monica?” The only response I get it is more sobbing and I feel myself panic. “Monica, what is it?”

The door opens and there she is, her eyes red, her face wet with tears. She opens her mouth, trying to speak but can’t. She takes a few steps and crumbles into me, shaking her head. I can actually feel my heart break. I can’t believe I was wrong.

I can’t believe I put her through this.

“Oh, honey…” I start, unable to find the words. “Oh, honey, I…” There _are_ no words for a moment like this. This hurts like nothing else.

She looks up at me and whispers, “They’re all positive.”

I feel my entire body start, sure I heard her wrong. “What?”

“They’re positive. All of them.”

She wouldn’t screw with me, not about this, right? “Are you serious?”

She smiles as she cries even harder. “I’m pregnant.”

A happy, stupid laugh erupts out of me. “Oh, my God. You’re pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant,” she says again, and they’re the sweetest, most fantastic words I’ve heard since last year, when she told me someone had picked us, that we were getting a baby. I feel her body start to sag as she collapses, my own knees starting to shake, and we sink to the floor together.

“We’re going to have a baby,” she whispers into my ear.

I feel tears fill my eyes as I take her face in my hands, the smile on my face hurting my cheeks. “We’re having a baby.” The words sound so right, so meant to be, and I feel my heart explode from happiness, the universe expanding and contracting around my little family. “We’re having a baby.” I say it again, unable to help myself.

Monica sobs and buries her face in my neck, and I hold her close, rocking her back and forth. I stroke her back gently and kiss the side of her head. “I love you,” I whisper.

She cries a little harder for a moment, laughing a little at the same time. “I love you, too.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly needing to be reassured.

“I thought you were the one who was so sure about this,” she teases softly, her fingers stroking my hair.

I shrug helplessly, amazed to realize that deep down, I was so _un_sure about this. Or maybe that it just doesn’t feel real yet.

“Come see the tests,” she tells me, standing up, her hands tugging at mine until I stand and follow her into the bathroom.

She stops and stares at the tests, all lined up alphabetically on the counter. I wrap my arms around her, my hands inevitably finding their way to her stomach, her hands resting on top of mine, our fingers tangling together. Six pink plus signs stare back at us defiantly, announcing to the world that Chandler and Monica Bing have somehow, magically, miraculously, beaten the odds. Underneath our hands is our baby, this tiny, _tiny_ little life that we’ve somehow managed to create. My heart takes off at a gallop with that thought and I sink to my knees again. Monica turns and I wrap my arms around her waist, gently kissing her stomach. I don’t care how wildly clichéd it is for the expectant father to do that to the mother of his child; right now, it feels like the only way to express a fraction of what I’m feeling.

Monica wipes her face with the back of her arm, one hand resting on top of my head, letting me take all the time I need. “My whole life,” I whisper, not sure if it’s to my wife or to our child, “I never expected to want kids. I never knew it would hurt this much to want children and not be able to have them. I never thought I’d be a good dad…” My voice trails off, words truly escaping me right now.

“You’re the best father in the world,” Monica tells me, and whether or not that’s empirically true, I know she means it with every fiber of her being.

“Let’s go celebrate,” I say, looking up at her. “Let’s go eat way too much Chinese food and dance with our babies and just be happy.”

“I can do that.”

I stand up and wrap my arms around her once more, kissing her deeply. I have never been more in love with my wife than I am at this moment.

She smiles against my mouth, kissing me back, until she disentangles herself to head back to the living room. I trail behind her, our fingers locked together. She reaches the playpen first, bending over to pick up a baby, and I have a brief moment of panic—should she be picking up our kids? Is that safe? The moment passes, though, when I remind myself that women have been doing this for centuries; their bodies are more than equipped to deal with it.

Just in case, I’ll ask the doctor when we see him in the morning.

She lifts Erica over her head, smiling at her, before pulling her close and kissing the baby’s belly. Erica laughs and smiles, her hands immediately going to her mother’s hair. I’m not sure if there’s a better sight in this world than watching Monica interact with our children. She’s such a natural at it, it’s ridiculous. “Go see Daddy, sweetie,” she says, passing her off to me. I lean in and kiss Erica’s chubby cheek rapidly, blowing raspberries, making her laugh more.

I’ve found that best sound in the world is my kids laughing.

“Daddy and Eri are silly, aren’t they, Jack?” I look up and see that Monica already has Jack in her arms, bouncing him back and forth, and he smiles at me gummily.

“Hey, dude,” I say, leaning down and giving his cheeks the same treatment, his laughter shrieking in my ear. I look up at Monica, who’s grinning at me wider than I’ve ever seen, and pseudo-whisper in my son’s ear. “I think Mommy should get a kiss, too, don’t you?” He purses his lips and blows at me, making me and Monica laugh. Erica imitates her brother, not wanting to be left out.

“The royal couple has spoken,” Monica says, still laughing.

“Too bad,” I whisper, caressing her cheek for a moment before pulling her to me, kissing her softly. It’s an interesting sensation; each of us holding a baby, and another one technically between us.

“You realize we’re going to have three kids,” she tells me.

“Eh. What’s one more?”

She shakes her head at me, smiling, and moves over to the couch, keeping Jack on her lap. I sit down with Erica and start reaching for the takeout containers, beginning the tricky maneuver of trying to eat while keeping it out of reach of my two very grabby children.

“Hey, when do you think it happened?”

She shrugs. “Hard to say. We have a pretty decent amount of sex, you know, and I haven’t exactly been tracking my ovulation like I used to.”

I pause for a moment, searching my mind, suddenly very interested in trying to figure this part out. “Hey, remember that really amazing night?”

“Honey, you’re going to have to narrow it down for me.”

I waggle my eyebrows at her suggestively. “Thank you for that. No, but that night you were super horny and you wouldn’t stop…” I look down at the twins for a moment, trying to be mindful of the fact that they’re going to start picking up on words soon, so this might as good a time as any to start censoring. “There’s no family-friendly term for it.”

She chuckles as her eyes light up. “That really was a great night. I suppose that’s when it could have been. Makes sense. My body was just begging to be fertilized. It was some point around that night, definitely.”

“I’m sure our neighbors will be very pleased to know that all that screaming wasn’t in vain.”

Her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink, but other than that she ignores me. Instead, she picks up the remote, turning on the TV.

“Want to watch a movie? I’m sure there are tons of Christmas movies on right now. It’s that time of year. I could go for something silly and predictable.”

“Whatever you want, honey,” I tell her, and I really mean it. I’m over the moon right now, and anything that will make her happy will genuinely make me happy.

She flips through the channels, Jack managing to pull the end of the remote into his mouth; we’ve already gotten used to anything and everything being something for the kids to teeth on, and as long as it’s not small enough to be a choking hazard or in some way poisonous, we’ve just learned to roll with it.

“Oh! ‘White Christmas!’ I love this one!” She puts the remote down and grabs a teething ring off the couch next to her, handing it to Jack. Without missing a beat, she grabs a fork and starts eating, making the whole thing look effortless. A moment later, she notices that I’m staring at her and lifts an eyebrow at me.

“I really, _really_ love you,” I say, a million different emotions welling up in my chest, tears prickling my eyes.

“I really, _really_ love you, too,” she answers. A tear of her own spills out of her eye as she smiles at me. “Really really.”

My cup runneth over.


	9. Chapter 9

I think this is the moment when blind panic sets in.

I’ve been staring at my bedroom ceiling for at least an hour, trying to fall asleep, but my mind won’t stop spinning.

I should be overjoyed right now, and for the most part, I am. I mean, I’m pregnant.

At least, I’m pretty sure I am. I’m mostly sure I am. Six pregnancy tests said so, and they’re usually almost completely accurate when it comes to confirming pregnancy, and even if you get a false positive, it’s extraordinarily unlikely to get six of them.

It’s just so hard to believe right now. Now that the complete euphoria of the moment has settled some, fears I didn’t know I would have start racing through my mind.

The first one being, can my body handle this?

I guess, more accurately, can my uterus handle this?

What does an inhospitable environment mean once the baby is conceived and has been marinating for a couple of months? Is there any danger? Is the baby at risk? Am _I_ at risk? Will I be put on bed rest?

I sigh and look over at Chandler, who is sleeping peacefully for the moment, a smile on his face, his hand on my stomach. I trace my fingers gently over his, my heart fluttering a little.

Yes, I’m terrified, but still so ridiculously excited.

I’ll be more excited in the morning, after we’ve seen the doctor and he’s confirmed that there’s actually a baby. Right now…aside from being terrified, it’s still really scary to hope, to believe.

It just doesn’t feel completely real yet. I don’t know what will make it feel real, though.

I do know that I’m already completely in love. If this turns out to be some kind of fluke, I don’t know if either of us will be able to recover.

But if it’s true…if we’re pregnant…I can’t even begin to fathom it. So much is going to change, but I think in the best way possible.

But oh, my God, that means we’re going to have three little bitty kids. Jack and Erica will still be in diapers when this one is born. It’s hard enough keeping up with two of them; how am I going to handle three?

I’ll just have to be supermom. Somehow. And it’s not as if I’m doing this alone. Chandler’s a great father. He’s wonderful and attentive and sweet and just amazing, and our kids are so lucky to have him as a father. Plus, he wanted four kids, at least back when we were engaged he did. Obviously we won’t have a boy, twin girls, and another boy, but we somehow managed to wind up with twins anyway. Since he brought it up, though, I’ve always had that picture in my head of us and our four kids. I’ve always wanted to give that to him. Three kids is a pretty good compromise.

I look at the clock and sigh again, frustrated. If we have to get to the doctor by seven, we’ll have to be up no later than five, and it’s almost midnight.

I’m sure all of this worrying can’t possibly be good for the baby. Or the lack of sleep, which I should be getting as much of as possible while it’s still comfortable for me to sleep.

As soon as these thoughts filter through my mind, they’re immediately chased out by paranoia; am I worrying about this sort of thing needlessly? I mean, there is still the _possibility_ that I’m not pregnant.

I need to try to let that go, though. Six pregnancy tests can’t be wrong. Not combined with all the other signs, right?

I look over at Chandler again; he’s still smiling. I love that he’s so happy about this. This guy, who just a few years ago balked at the thought of marriage and children, wants this to happen as much as I do; he went through the long, painful process of adoption just so we could be parents.

I study his face, wondering if our baby will look like him or me. I’d be okay with a little mini-Chandler. My husband is pretty much the best looking guy around, and in the grand tradition of men, he just seems to be getting hotter as he gets older. Those tiny little lines that are starting to appear at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth honestly do make him look distinguished. Of course, I don’t know if he’d be a pretty girl, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Erica looks a lot like Chandler sometimes. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she makes these faces sometimes and I swear she looks just like him, like he’s her biological father. I wonder if that’s because of that whole nature versus nurture thing, or if it’s just something I want to believe.

My heart leaps into my throat as a horrible thought hits me—will I love this baby more than I love Jack and Erica?

My heart starts to race with that sickening thought. That couldn’t possibly happen. Those two are everything to me. Just thinking about them makes me happy. I love them so much that it’s almost like I’m numb to it because if I think about how much I love them, I’ll break down into tears. Just because I didn’t give birth to them doesn’t mean they’re not mine.

I feel myself start to panic for a few moments before I’m overwhelmed with the need to see my babies. I lean over and kiss Chandler softly on the lips—something we started doing years ago, probably when we first started dating, when one of us would slip out of bed, sort of to reassure the other one that we’d be back—and he responds sleepily before immediately drifting off again, and I slide out of bed.

As quietly as possible, I walk into the nursery and go first to Erica’s crib. Instantly, I feel myself relax. I don’t know what it is about seeing my kids that makes me feel so at ease, but I’ll take it.

Somehow, she’s managed to turn completely around in her sleep, her head now at the foot of her bed, and I have to laugh to myself a little. Once she’s old enough to sleep in a real bed, who knows where we’ll find her every morning.

I shudder to myself with that thought—big kid beds. I’m nowhere near ready for that. Fortunately, at seven and a half months, neither are they. But considering how fast they’re growing up, it feels like all I have to do is blink and they’ll be graduating from college.

Tears fill my eyes; I’m not completely sure if it’s idea of them as grownups or from the influx of hormones in my system, but if thinking about them in real beds is hard, thinking about them growing up and leaving me is impossible.

I reach out and gently stroke Erica’s soft blonde hair; she snuffles a little in her sleep, smacking her lips for a moment before her mouth drops open, her little snores filling the room. My little bitty buzz saw.

I walk over to Jack and shake my head when I see him; sleeping on his knees, little butt in the air, the side of his face smooshed into the mattress. These kids sleep weird.

Gently, I put my hand on the back of his head and slide my other hand underneath him, carefully turning in him onto his back. I realize it’s probably futile; he’ll flip over again as soon as I leave the room, mostly likely.

His eyes pop open suddenly and my breath catches in my throat as he stares at me. He can be such a serious little baby at times; it always feels like he’s about to open his mouth and have a full conversation. Then he usually smiles his goofy little toothless grin and he’s back to being a baby.

He kicks his feet as I smile down at him, his little mouth stretching into a yawn as he blinks sleepily. I stroke his cheek with one finger and his eyes flutter shut, asleep in moments.

There’ s no possible way I could love another child more than I love these two—as much as, definitely, but not more than.

But what if I’m wrong?

Will I feel more connected to this baby than the twins? Will I do something stupid like push this baby away because I’m scared I’ll prefer it to my adopted children?

I pull the nursery door halfway shut behind me and go downstairs to the living room, curling up on the couch in front of the picture window. The neighborhood is completely still this time of night; Chandler and I have finally started to get used to the peace of it all.

A thin layer of snow covers our lawn, and I smile wistfully, thinking about how next year we’ll really be able to play out there with the twins, building snowmen and making snow angels.

The moonlight shines brightly on the snow, and I desperately wish I had a poetic bone in my body because this feels like the moment for deep thoughts. Instead, I’m just having the messed up jumble of fears and joys that won’t leave me alone.

I suppose I could wake Chandler, talk to him about this, but he looked so peaceful, so serene, that I just can’t do that to him. Besides, he’s had to deal with enough of my emotions for one night. He’s been a complete rock through the rollercoaster ride I took him on tonight, and if anyone deserves a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, it’s that guy.

I’m sure I’ll still be freaked out in the morning; he can start crazy-lady duty then.

I look toward the kitchen, considering warm milk, when I feel my stomach turn, and I suddenly feel like a complete idiot. That sort of thing has been happening a lot lately and I can’t believe I never made the connection. It hasn’t been happening with all foods, but I’ll see something I’d ordinarily eat—like steak—and feel incredibly nauseated. Have I really been dumb enough to think it was all just some bug I’d caught, or did I tell myself that because it was easier to believe I was sick than to believe I was pregnant?

Given the circumstances, I’d probably have to go with “just that dumb.” I really had no reason to suspect that I’d be pregnant.

In hindsight, though…it’s pretty glaringly obvious. Maybe I really was just too close to see it.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, trying to get the hang of the way it feels.

I laugh softly; I really like the way it sounds. I’ve been waiting my whole life to say it.

I lean back against the arm of the couch, my hand gently resting on my stomach. “I guess you’re really in there,” I whisper. “I promise I’ll do my best to keep you safe over the next seven months, but you have to promise that you’ll do your best to stay in there. I know I’m asking a lot of you—you’re just a teeny, tiny fetus, what can _you_ do? I’ll do most of the work, I swear. Just hang on for as long as you can; I know it’s not all welcoming in there like it should be, but your life will be so great out here. Your daddy and I love you so much, and your big brother and sister will love you, too…even if they torture you mercilessly sometimes. You have a whole army of aunts and uncles and even cousins that are prepared to love you more than you can handle. Your family is a little crazy, but that’s what makes them fun, and they’re going to be so excited to meet you. Mommy’s a little crazy, too, sometimes, but your daddy makes sure she doesn’t go off the deep end. He’s good for that. Daddy will make you laugh; he’ll make you laugh until your sides hurt, and he will love you with every bone in his body.” I sigh, pausing my monologue. “And I promise I won’t always bog you down with all this heavy stuff, especially when you’re trying to sleep. It’s just that you’re kind of a captive audience.”

I caress my stomach for a few more moments before I finally pull myself to a standing position. “Let’s go to bed, little one. We have a long day ahead of us.”

I make my way upstairs and crawl into bed next to my husband, who immediately turns in his sleep to face me, his hand coming to rest on my stomach once more. It’s completely fascinating to me that his aim is this good, that his subconscious is already reminding him about the baby. I rest my hand on his and cuddle close to him.

“I love you,” I whisper, including my husband, twins, and unborn child in the sentiment.

Chandler mumbles something that sounds close to, “Love you,” and my eyes finally close.


	10. Chapter 10

I clutch Monica’s hand in mine; her palm is sweaty.

Actually, I think that’s me.

Waiting in the doctor’s office feels worse than waiting last night, and last night was pretty horrible for a couple of minutes.

Of course, it turned pretty damn fantastic in a heartbeat.

I look down at my wife, reclined on the examining table; she looks nervous, too, as if any moment Dr. Connelly will come in and take all of this away from us.

Her hand rests on her stomach, almost as if she’s trying to protect the tiny life there.

I can understand that. I fell asleep like that last night, and woke up like that this morning. If I could have managed it while we were driving here, I would have.

She took two more tests this morning as soon as she rolled out of bed; one was turning positive before she was even finished with the other one.

Eight pregnancy tests, all positive. We never thought we’d get to see _one_ of those little pink plus signs.

Test nine will be the official one, I suppose; the doctor’s already done a quick exam, drawn blood, and taken a urine sample, so all we have to do is wait for him to get back.

Which is easier said than done.

The receptionist very kindly offered to keep an eye on the twins while we were in here since daycare won’t be open for another hour. I think the two of us are far too distracted by this whole thing right now to be decent parents, which is horrible. We shouldn’t let the possibility of a new baby take precedence over the children we already have, and I think if the circumstances were different, if Monica and I didn’t have trouble conceiving, this wouldn’t be the case. The whole thing is such a shock that I think we’re just trying to maintain.

I put my hand on Monica’s, giving it a little squeeze, both of our hands now on her stomach. She looks up at me and smiles, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

“It’s positive, right? I mean, do you think the home tests were wrong? Why is he taking so long?”

I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Isn’t a false positive incredibly rare?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, wouldn’t eight false positives be impossible?”

“I—I guess.”

“Everything’s going to be okay, honey.”

“But what if—”

“Hey; I was right about you being knocked up, wasn’t I? I’m right about this, too.”

I see a tear leak out the corner of her eye. “I’m so scared, Chandler,” she whispers. “This feels too good to be true.”

I wrap my arms around her and halfway sit on the examining table next to her. “I know. Just keep reminding yourself that this was a long shot, but it wasn’t impossible. This baby was meant to happen, just like Jack and Erica were meant to be ours.”

“What if I love this baby more than I love them?” she asks softly.

That thought crossed my mind, too; the last thing I want is for the twins to think they didn’t hold the same place in my heart as this one. “Do you love the baby already?”

“So much.”

“More than Jack and Erica?”

“Of course not.”

“Well…”

“But I didn’t get to go through this with them; what if being pregnant and getting to do all the pregnant things with this one makes me feel different?”

“Well, I love the twins equally but differently, the same as I love the new one just as much but in a whole different way. I think that’s supposed to happen. They’re not the same people, so how they affect us is different, but the amount of love is the same.” I can tell by the look on her face that she doesn’t quite believe me. “Monica, you are a _good_ mother. The best one I’ve ever known. Something as simple as biology isn’t going to change how much you love our kids.”

“I’m sorry I’m freaking out about this. I should be beyond thrilled, and part of me is, but…”

“I know; it’s still scary.”

There’s a tap at the door a moment before it opens, and Dr. Connelly appears before us, his expression blank. I feel Monica’s shoulders tense beneath my hands; my breath catches in my throat.

“Well, I think you already know what I’m going to tell you.”

“We still need to hear it,” I answer quickly, my heart racing.

A smile spreads across his face. “You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”

Simultaneously, the tension drains out of our bodies, and Monica laughs. “Oh, my God. You’re sure?”

“Completely. You had eight positive results on the home tests; I think you were pretty sure yourselves.”

“Is the baby okay?” I ask.

“We’ll do a sonogram so you can see for yourselves, but I don’t see any reason why it won’t be. I’ve treated a lot of women in similar situations as yours, Monica, and I’ve found that while many have trouble conceiving, they have very little difficulty with their pregnancies. Now, each woman is different, each pregnancy is different, but please don’t think that your troubles up until now will have any bearing on the rest of your pregnancy. You’re young, you’re strong, and you’re healthy. You’re in very good shape to handle this.”

I lean down and kiss the top of Monica’s head, grinning widely, giving her a gentle squeeze. 

“But, I _am_ going to recommend you go on light duty at work for the next couple of weeks, just until you’re out of your first trimester.”

“What? Why?”

“Just as a precaution. Don’t do anything too strenuous, sit down as often as possible, that sort of thing.”

“But…” she looks at me, distraught. “I’m a chef. I can’t just sit down while my staff is working…”

“I’m not suggesting bed rest. Please don’t get upset about this; I recommend this to all women in your situation. Just explain it to your boss. I’ll even write a note if I need to. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Monica looks nervous; I don’t feel much better. Regardless, I give her another gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, honey. Like he said, just a precaution.” She nods slightly, though I can feel her shoulders tense.

“I promise you, Monica; if I suspected anything was amiss, I’d let you know. If something looks off with the ultrasound, I’ll let you know. I’m not going to keep anything from you. All of this is just routine. Okay?” The doctor looks back and forth between us for a moment, and I guess what he sees is good enough. “So; any strange symptoms I should know about?”

She shrugs. “I don’t think so. I didn’t even realize I _had_ symptoms until Chandler started pointing them out last night. I’m tired, sometimes nauseated, often hungry, I’ve gotten dizzy a couple of times…pretty basic, as far as I can tell.”

The doctor nods along. “Yep; you sound run-of-the-mill to me.”

I look down at her and see her smiling a little. I don’t think either of us has ever been so grateful to be “run-of-the-mill.”

“I’m sure you know the basics by this point; no alcohol, no smoking, very easy on the caffeine, be careful with the heavy lifting. Listen to your body; if you feel exhausted, it means you’re exhausted. If you’re hungry, eat. The baby is going to take all of the nutrients out of your body and then some; it’ll probably even take the calcium out of your teeth, so drink lots of milk.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Really? It can do that?”

Dr. Connelly nods. “I’ve seen a lot of women wind up with a mouth full of cavities after giving birth. But for the most part, right now, you can keep doing what you’ve been doing. According to your calculations, you’re about ten weeks along, so you’re almost done with the first trimester, which is great. The risk of miscarriage lessens significantly in the second trimester. I’ll give you a prescription for prenatal vitamins that I want you to start taking right away, and I’ll make sure Angie gives you a list of the general dos and don’ts, and a list of books that women often find helpful during pregnancy. If you have any friends that have been pregnant, talk to them, ask them questions. I’m also going to recommend you to an OB-GYN out in your area—a colleague of mine, Dr. Natalie Rosen. She has a lot of experience with couples who’ve had fertility issues, and she’ll be much closer than coming out here to see me all the time. But I will still be available for any questions or concerns.”

All of a sudden, my head is spinning, dizzy with all the information that just got thrown at me. Monica tilts her head up to me and chuckles. “I think Chandler just go overwhelmed.”

The doctor smiles sympathetically. “I know this is a lot to process at one time. This is probably going to take a few days to really sink in, and you’re both probably going to be feeling lots of different things. Just try to talk it out, and deal with one thing at a time, and remember to _enjoy _this. You’re having a baby; it’s going to be fun.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I say, Monica nodding in agreement. It _is_ a little overwhelming, but I feel excitement surging through me; this is really happening.

“Now, the part I’m sure you two really want to get to…Monica, are you ready for your sonogram?”

Monica squeaks in excitement as the doctor rolls the machine over to us and I feel my heart start to race. This is it. We’re going to see our baby.

“Just bear with me for a second,” Dr. Connelly says. “I don’t do this as much anymore, but the rest of my staff won’t be here for another hour.”

“As long as you check the right uterus, I’m good,” I say, and Monica groans.

The doctor starts squirting some goop on her stomach and Monica jumps in surprise. “Cold,” she tells me. I take her hand in mine, our fingers gripping each other tightly as the doctor moves the wand around. A strange sound fills the room and our eyes immediately go to the monitor.

“Good, strong heartbeat,” Dr. Connelly says.

“That’s the heartbeat?” I exclaim, tears filling my eyes.

“That’s the heartbeat,” he confirms. “And…” he pauses, moving the wand a few more times. “There’s your baby.”

“Oh, my God,” Monica whispers. “It’s our baby.”

I look down at her for a second, and I can see her cheeks are wet with tears. I rest my cheek on top of her head and stare at the screen. It’s a little fuzzy and misshapen, but it’s definitely a baby. A teeny, tiny, perfect little baby.

“Wow,” I whisper. I wish I could express myself better; I wish I could find some way to articulate all the things I’m feeling right now, how happy I am, how scared I am, how everything I am, but “wow” is the best I can do.

Monica says nothing, but I can hear her breath hitching as she cries, her body shaking through the tears.

“This is one of the best days of my life,” she says softly as we stare at the screen.

“I feel like I could watch this forever.”

“I’ll get some pictures printed off for you,” the doctor says, and Monica and I jump, both having forgotten he was there. “When you go in for your appointment with your new doctor, you’ll get to do this all over again.”

“When are we going to be able to feel it move?” I ask, already eager thinking about it.

“It’ll be months, and Monica will feel it long before you can.”

“Women get all the good stuff,” I say to her and she laughs.

“I’m gonna have to agree with you on this one.”

The doctor gives us a few more minutes, letting us stare at the baby to our heart’s content before clearing his throat. “I know you could stay here all day, but…”

Monica nods, and a few moments later the image of our child disappears, and I feel lost for just a moment. Dr. Connelly hands Monica a towel and she starts wiping off her stomach. “I’ll meet you two at the front desk in a few minutes,” he says, and leaves the room.

I help Monica off the table and pull her into my arms, and she sobs into my chest. I stroke her back, tears of my own dripping onto her head.

“It’s real,” she whispers. “It’s really real. We did it. We made a baby.”

“How am I supposed to concentrate on work for eight hours today?”

Monica groans. “Ugh. I’m supposed to work lunch today; am I even allowed to do that?”

“As long as you’re careful,” I tell her. “And tell your boss what’s going on.”

“I hate that the first person to know about this is my manager. We should be telling the whole gang, you know?”

“Well, we could call them all now.”

She shakes her head vigorously. “No way. Not until the first trimester’s over. I mean, I want to literally shout it from the rooftop, but I’d rather wait until the possibility of miscarriage decreases. I just hate the thought of telling everyone that we’re pregnant, then having to tell them if something happens to the baby.” I feel my stomach turn into a knot at that thought. “Is that okay?”

“Definitely, and I think I kind of like the idea of keeping this to ourselves for a little while. And, hey, you know what?”

“What’s that?”

“We have _tons_ of baby stuff already. One less thing to worry about.”

“There’s your silver lining,” she says, finally pulling out of my arms to get dressed.

“Hey, can we do that thing where we take a picture of your belly every week or month or whatever it is?”

“Of course,” she answers, pulling up her jeans, and for the first time I notice that she’s struggling just a bit with the button.

“Can we do a family portrait of you, me, the twins and us holding the sonogram picture?”

“I have a question for you,” she answers, pulling her shirt over her head. “When did you get so sappy? The Chandler Bing _I_ married wasn’t nearly this sentimental.”

“We’re going to have a baby; a baby we never thought we’d have. I think I’m entitled to a little bit of schmaltz.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t entitled to it.” She comes back over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. “I’m just wondering where it came from.”

“I’m super, crazy, over-the-moon in love with you and our little family,” I answer simply.

“Oh, is that all?” I chuckle a little and give her a squeeze. “We can take any of those cheesy, clichéd pictures you want.”

We stand there for a few moments, just sort of basking in the wonder of it all, until I sigh. “I have to get to work.”

“I know,” she answers wistfully. “Wouldn’t it be nice if the world would just stop for us for a few hours? Then we could just not worry about everything else and be together, just the five of us? Well, I guess five isn’t really right—the four point two of us.”

“If only. We should take a day for that, anyway. We’ll play hooky, stay home with the twins, not do much of anything. The world will still be there when we decide to rejoin.”

She stands on tiptoes and kisses me. “Deal. Let’s get out of here. I want to spend a few minutes with the twins before we drop them off at daycare.”

One of the absolute best things about my job is that they provide daycare and once the twins hit six months, we were able to get them in. I know it cuts down on Monica’s stress of having to leave them with strangers when she knows that I’m just upstairs. The only downside is that they discourage people from dropping in to see their kids during the day; something about helping babies learn to depend on other people, or respond to other people, or trust them. I don’t really know—all I know is that it kind of sucks being so close to them all day without being able to see them. But at least I’m close by if there’s an emergency.

We walk out to the waiting room to find Dr. Connelly ready for us, the twins on the desk in their car seats, basking the attention being showered on them by the doctor and his receptionist. Angie absently hands us a packet of information, mostly paying attention to tickling Jack’s chubby little cheeks. He smiles up at her happily, apparently very comfortable with this person who is willing to openly adore him.

“Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice,” Monica tells the doctor and he just smiles at us.

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m glad that it was such good news. Oh, and here are the pictures.” He holds out an envelope which Monica grabs excitedly. “Remember; if you need anything, just call.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I say absently, one of the sonogram pictures already in hand.

“Congratulations, you two,” Angie tells us, tickling Erica’s foot one last time before turning back to her computer screen. Monica leans down and gives each baby a kiss before we grab the carriers and head out to the parking garage.

“I’m gonna have to say,” Monica says suddenly. “This is, hands down, the best Hanukah _and_ Christmas present you ever could have given me.”

“Totally planned it that way,” I tell her as we strap the twins into the back seat. “Oh, hey, Mon. You probably don’t want to hear this, but I think we’re going to have to get a bigger car.”

“Oh, God. Do we have to get a minivan?”

That thought actually makes me shudder. “I hope not. Maybe we can find something less soccer-mom, but I don’t think the Porsche is going to cut it anymore.”

She runs her hand over the leather seats wistfully for a moment before she sighs. “You’re right. Besides, we can sell this thing, use the money to buy a brand new car, and probably still have some left over. Man, growing up sucks.”

I slide into the driver’s seat and start the car, Monica not far behind. “I’ll make you a deal; when we hit our midlife crises, or when the kids are in high school, we’ll buy another even flashier car, and make the kids drive the minivan, even if we have to buy a minivan for them to drive just so we can embarrass the hell out of them.”

“Ah, yes; the father of my children.”

I smile at her as I pull out into morning traffic. “And don’t you forget it.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I think,” I say as I stand Erica on my legs, making her wiggle back and forth a little, “that our first Christmas morning as parents has been a rousing success. What do you think?” I look over at Chandler, who has Jack sitting on his lap, shoving wrapping paper into his mouth. “Please take that out of his mouth.”

“What? He’s happy. Isn’t that why we used excess amounts of wrapping paper? So the kids could play with it?”

“Play with it, yes. Eat it, no.” I reach over and gently remove the paper from Jack’s tiny fist, earning myself a disgruntled look and a handful of drool in the process. “It’s possible that he has a toy _somewhere_ that he can chew on, isn’t it?”

Together, we survey the living room; overall, I’m impressed that we managed to hold back on the gift giving as much as we did. As tempting as it was to go completely overboard with gifts for our babies, Chandler and I managed to keep it fairly low-key, mostly because at eight months old, they don’t particularly care. They like the colors, they like the shiny stuff, but other than that, it doesn’t really matter to them. Besides, between the gifts that Chandler’s mom brought last week when she visited, what I’m sure Chandler’s dad will bring when he comes to visit after the New Year, and the gifts my parents told me they’re bringing today, not to mention whatever swag Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Mike, and Joey bought, they won’t be hurting for presents.

Chandler and I, sappily enough, sort of felt like we got the best gift possible already, so our gift exchange was minimal. It was much more fun helping the twins open their presents, anyway.

Chandler gently places Jack on the floor. “All right, buddy. See if you can find something appropriate to chew on,” he tells him, and Jack crawls off to the pile of gifts under the tree. I shake my head in wonder. Literally two days ago, when we put Jack on the floor to encourage him to crawl, he’d just look at us like we were stupid, almost as if he couldn’t believe we expected him to get around on his own. It didn’t seem to interest him at all. Then, out of nowhere, we saw him get onto his knees and scoot across the floor. I’m not even a little ashamed that I cried. We swore that Erica would be the first one mobile, but her brother beat her to it. We can see how much it’s pissing Erica off, too. For whatever reason, she just can’t seem to get the forward motion down.

My kids are already ridiculously competitive, and I don’t know if I can even blame myself for it. I think it might be a twin thing.

I put Erica on the floor at my feet and she immediately hauls herself to her knees, rocking back and forth, eager to catch up to her brother. I can see the determination on her face and I hold my breath, keeping my fingers crossed for my little girl.

A minute later, her face scrunches up, big tears rolling down her cheeks as she starts to cry, and I feel my heart break for her. Chandler scoops her off the ground and stands up, pulling her against his chest. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. You’ll get there.” He sways back and forth as he tries to soothe her, and I look over at our son, who’s managed to grab a big, squishy block and is attempting to shove the entire thing into his mouth. It’s not that I didn’t believe people when they said their kids put everything in their mouths, I think I just didn’t realize how much “everything” encompasses. What they should really say is that if it’s not attached to the ground, they’ll attempt to chew on it, and even then, if they can get their little lips around it, they don’t care if it _is_ attached to the ground.

“Hey, Mon.” I look up; Chandler’s still trying to console Erica, whose tears won’t subside. “I think she needs Mommy.” My heart clenches a little at that. The thought that sometimes I’m the only person in the world that will help my kids feel better makes me feel like more of a mother than anything else has.

I stand, taking her into my arms and stroking her soft hair, her head coming to rest on my shoulder as she sniffles. “You’re okay,” I whisper to her, rocking back and forth, her tears subsiding. “You don’t have to crawl yet. Maybe you won’t have to crawl ever. Maybe you’ll just go right to walking.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that,” I hear Chandler mumble. “Don’t even put it out there. She’ll start getting ideas.”

I press my lips to the back of her head and shrug. “Some babies don’t ever really crawl, you know. Some just pull themselves up and start walking.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to be cool with the idea of my eight month old daughter being able to walk.” He looks over at Jack, who’s still happily slobbering over his block. “It’s bad enough that my eight month old son is crawling. They shouldn’t be allowed to grow up. They should just be babies forever.”

I sigh against Erica’s head and nod. I don’t ever want them to grow up. “Well, at least we have another one on the way; we’ll be able to get a few more months of baby time before we have a house full of toddlers.”

Chandler’s hand slides across my stomach at the mention of our unborn child and I feel myself grin in response. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we got the news, and the whole thing still feels like a dream most days, but it’s been pretty incredible.

Except for the random bouts of nausea and vomiting; I could do without those. Especially when I’m at work. I don’t know if my symptoms are getting stronger or if it’s all psychosomatic, but food smells are really getting to me more than they were a few weeks ago.

“Hey, don’t forget we need to take this week’s picture.”

“Ah, yes; The Chronicles of a Baby Bump.” True to his word, Chandler’s been taking pictures of my slowly growing stomach ever since we found out. So far, I haven’t been able to see a difference, but I’m sure it won’t be long before it changes daily. But he’s been terribly excited about the whole thing; taking pictures from the front and the side; he’s talked me into actually writing the number of weeks on my stomach, too, just for posterity’s sake. He even managed to take one the day we found out—and I think this one is his pride and joy—with him kneeling down next to me, my shirt pulled up, and he’s making his excited face with thumbs up. And really, that whole moment was so “Chandler” that I couldn’t deny him. It actually came out pretty cute, too. But I think he was feeling especially virile that day—I guess finding out you’ve knocked up your wife tends to bring out the caveman in some guys.

Honestly, though, I think the whole idea is incredibly sweet, and I love that we’ll have this whole journey documented. The fact that he’s having such a good time with it and that he’s so happy is still beyond amazing to me.

“Anything particular you have in mind for this week’s photo shoot?” I ask, stroking Erica’s back, listening to her make contented little baby noises.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me put a white beard and red stocking cap on your belly, would you?” I think my silence is answer enough. “Then no, no ideas.”

I shake my head at him and kneel on the floor, standing Erica on the floor next to me. “Okay, sweetie,” I tell her, keeping my hands on her sides. “You want to try walking?” She bounces up and down a few times, not really getting the concept. Jack crawls across the floor and plops down in front of his sister. He points up at her and declares, “Dee!”

Erica’s legs collapse, so I plop her on the floor as she answers, “Bah bah bah bah bah.”

“Sounds like an important conversation they’re having,” Chandler notes. “Think they need some privacy?”

“Possibly. It sounds like the fate of our nation is at stake.” I stand up and my ears start to ring, my vision turning dark and fuzzy for a few seconds, and I feel Chandler reach out to grab me. I blink rapidly for a few moments, trying to get my bearings, as I feel him guide me onto the couch.

“You all right?” I hear him ask me, trying his best not to sound like he’s panicking.

“Yeah,” I answer, lowering my head between my knees for a few moments. These dizzy spells have been interesting. I’ve been getting them more frequently than the average head rush, but not often enough to actually be a cause for concern; they usually pass within moments and are more of a surprise than anything else.

A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and I feel my stomach churning. I breathe in deeply through my nose, hoping it’ll pass.

“Mon?”

I bolt to the bathroom as fast I can, barely making it before I get the joyful experience of revisiting my breakfast.

The only upside I’ve found to morning sickness is that once I’ve thrown up, I usually feel fine. Still, it’s a small price to pay if I get to be pregnant in exchange.

I flush the toilet and cautiously lean back. My stomach stays settled, so I stand up slowly, waiting to see if I get a sneak attack, but all is well. I grab a toothbrush and toothpaste and start scrubbing my mouth—since this whole nausea thing kicked in, I’ve taken to leaving an arsenal of oral hygiene supplies at every sink in the house. The downside—sometimes it’s the flavor of the toothpaste or mouthwash that sets me off.

I open the door and see Chandler sitting on the floor with the twins a little too casually, one eye trained on me. “I’m fine,” I reassure him, lowering myself to the couch once more.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. I feel much better now.” I lean back, resting one hand on my stomach, the other reaching out to stroke his hair. “Your child is doing very weird things to me.”

He grins at me then pulls himself onto his knees. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my belly. My eyes water a little, and I chalk it up to hormones. “I wish I could tell you that I’m sorry about it, but…”

I put my hands on his cheeks and he lifts himself up, pressing his lips to mine.

“You’re all nice and minty,” he whispers.

“Much better than the alternative,” I assure him, kissing him again.

He wraps his arms around my waist, his ear pressed against my chest. “Love you,” he tells me.

“I love you, too.” I see Jack crawl across the floor to the Christmas tree; a few seconds later, I see Erica crawl after him. “Erica! Oh, my God, Erica!”

Chandler jumps away from me on high alert. “What? Is she okay?”

Tears are already streaming down my face. “She’s crawling!” I point over to the tree. He whips his head around just as she plops to the ground, poking at a piece of wrapping paper.

“Erica, did you just crawl?” Chandler asks her, his voice excited even though he missed the action. She picks up a piece of wrapping paper in each hand, waving her fists up and down, screeching with joy. Jack makes a face at her volume, throwing a squishy toy car at the ground.

“Dah!” he yells, and I’m pretty sure that’s his way of telling his sister to shut up.

“Erica, come see Daddy,” Chandler says. She looks up at him, considering. “Come here, Erica.” She grins at him and is on her knees again, zooming toward us. “That’s my girl!”

I’m practically bouncing up and down on the couch, my smile hurting my cheeks. “You did it,” I say as she reaches her father. “Oh, my sweet girl, you finally did it.”

Not to be left out, Jack starts to crawl to us, too, but stops halfway, distracted by a new teething ring. “Jack,” I say to him, and he looks up at me for a moment then makes a face as he starts to gnaw on his latest treasure.

“I think he just blew you off,” Chandler tells me, holding out a finger for Erica to grab onto. She shoves it into her mouth. I can tell he’s wiggling his finger around a bit, checking her gums. “It feels like she has one coming in up top.”

“Oh, good. Because I love it when she’s cranky.”

“Well, teething hurts, right, Erica? Tell Mommy how much it hurts.” He winces as she bites down on his finger—no one ever really prepared us for just how strong a baby’s jaw can be, either. “Or you can tell Daddy. That’s fine, too.”

I look over at Jack and see that he’s rolled onto his back, practically folded in half as he inspects his feet and I laugh. “What a little monkey.” I carefully slide off the couch and crawl over to my son. “You’re silly,” I tell him, leaning down to kiss his forehead and tickling his sides, making him laugh. “Oh, to still be that flexible,” I say to Chandler.

“You do all right,” he assures me. “We’ve gotten you into some pretty interesting positions over the years. I’m certainly not complaining.”

“Not in front of the kids, huh?” I wink at him to let him know I’m teasing.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” Chandler exclaims suddenly.

“It’s so much better when you have children,” I agree. “And next year, we’ll have three of them!”

“Speaking of…the first trimester’s over, right?”

“Just about, I think. Why?”

“Well, when did you want to start telling people about Baby X?”

“’Baby X’?”

“Yeah. The baby of mystery and intrigue.”

I shake my head at him. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“It’s a gift. But back to my original question…”

I can never really seem to avoid questions with Chandler anymore; there was a point in our past where he would have let it slide if I wanted to avoid answering a question. Now, though, he knows that I’ll eventually give in and answer if he pesters me long enough. “I don’t really know. I mean, I know that after twelve weeks the whole thing is a lot safer but…I just don’t know if I’m ready to let everyone know.”

“I understand. But, Monica, keep in mind that you’re not a very big person. It’s not going to be very long before people will be able to tell just by looking at you.”

I sigh, my hand automatically going to my still mostly-flat stomach. “We have that appointment with the new doctor in a couple of days; let’s just get past that and we’ll talk.”

“I don’t want to pressure you, honey. If you’re not ready to tell people, we’ll wait until you’re comfortable with it. I just can’t wait to add the sonogram picture to the collection on my desk.”

“You’re so sappy.” I duck my face down to Jack so Chandler can’t see that this, too, has made me weepy. These hormones truly are a bitch.

There’s a knock at the door suddenly, and I look up at Chandler, confused. “What time is it?”

Just as confused, he looks at his watch. “Almost nine thirty.”

I stand up, relieved to feel to no dizziness this time, and bring Jack with me. Cautiously, I open the door a crack and see my parents smiling back at me.

“Mom? Dad?”

“We’re early, we know,” my mother answers as I open the door to let them in. “I’m sorry; we just couldn’t wait any longer.” She hugs me before planting a kiss on Jack’s head, who grins at her, his two tiny bottom teeth poking out. She holds her hands out and Jack leans toward her slightly, his way of permitting another human to hold him. “Merry Christmas, Chandler!”

Chandler stands up, Erica in his arms, as my mother finally moves far enough into the house for my dad to enter. He wraps his arms around me as Chandler greets my mother with a hug only made awkward by the two babies in their arms.

My father goes over to Chandler, slinging an arm around his shoulders as he tickles Erica’s side. “Merry Christmas, everyone.” Chandler passes the baby off to my father, knowing that’s what he’s really after.

“I wish you’d let us know you were coming early. The place is a still a mess from this morning. We haven’t even gotten dressed yet,” I say, looking down at my pajamas.

“That’s all right, Monica,” my mom says, making faces at her grandson. “You don’t have to impress us.”

I roll my eyes and look over at Chandler, mouthing, “Since when?” He smiles at me, but says nothing.

“We’re just here for the grandkids, anyway,” my dad throws in, looking at Erica adoringly. I want to be offended, but I do understand the allure; my children are really damn cute.

“Well, come in, take your coats off.” I grab the back of my mother’s jacket to help her out of it as she shifts the baby from arm to arm, refusing to put him down for a moment.

“You okay, sweetie?” my father asks as her manages to remove his coat on his own. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Oh.” I smile self-consciously. “Erica just learned how to crawl. Like, five minutes ago.”

“What a big girl,” my dad exclaims, and Erica reaches up to him, trying to grab his face.

“What about Jack?”

“He figured it out two days ago,” Chandler answers, and I move over to stand next to him, his arm going around my shoulder.

“They’re growing up so fast,” my mother says, kissing Jack’s forehead. “We have presents for them out in the car, but we wanted to get in here and see them.”

“That’s okay,” I tell her. “They need to go down for a nap soon, anyway. Presents now would probably just distract them.” I can tell that my parents truly aren’t interested in anything but the twins at the moment. “Either of you want coffee?” They both nod at me, and I shake my head as I walk into the kitchen.

The coffee pot is still on and mostly full; Chandler won’t let me have anything but decaf, and lately, I’ve been vacillating between craving the taste of coffee and being completely repulsed by it. As I pour two mugs for my parents, I realize today is definitely a day I find it revolting. I take a few deep breaths through my mouth, trying to quell the queasy feeling. Fortunately, it subsides and I bring the coffee out to the living room, putting the mugs on one of the end tables.

Chandler looks at me curiously, probably noticing that I look a little pale. I shake my head and wrinkle my nose at the coffee, and he nods in understanding.

I love how we can have a complete conversation without ever saying a word.

“Monica,” my mother says suddenly, and I turn to look at her. “Are you pregnant?”

I feel my eyes go wide as my mouth drops open; out of the corner of my eye I can see Chandler gaping at her as well. “How did you know?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“You are?” she exclaims, her expression shocked.

“How did you know?” I ask again, completely stunned.

“You’re walking differently, for one,” she explains.

“But, what does—what—how…?”

“It’s the hips; the hips are the first part to really change. But I’d swear I just saw you make a face at coffee, and I’ve never known you to turn down coffee.”

My head is swimming; I’m still completely surprised that she’s managed to figure it out, and all by how I’m walking. I had no idea there’d been a change. I look over at my father, who’s gaping at us in shock. My mother walks toward me, finally passing Jack to Chandler, her hands coming up to cup my face. “You’re really pregnant?”

I nod, not trusting my voice, tears filling my eyes as I start to smile.

“Oh, my darling girl,” she whispers, pulling me in to her arms. “Congratulations.” I sniffle into her shoulder, and I’m pretty sure she’s crying a bit, too. “How far along are you?”

“About three months,” I whisper. “We just found out a couple of weeks ago.” Crying on my mother’s shoulder this time is significantly better than the last time, after I’d just found out we might never be able to get pregnant.

I feel Chandler’s hand on my back and I smile; one of my mother’s arms goes out to pull him into the hug. I feel my dad come up on my other side, his arm going around my shoulders, and it’s one of the most wonderful moments of my life; me, my husband, our twins, my parents, and our unborn child all in a little huddle, true joy and warmth radiating out of us.

“I’m so happy for you both,” I hear my father say, and my smile grows.

“Well, I guess that answers the question of when we’re going to start telling people,” Chandler quips, and it, fortunately, lightens the moment. We break apart from each other, and I wipe my eyes, trying to get myself under control.

“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I cry all the time now.” Chandler shifts Jack from one arm to the other, his free arm going around my shoulder and giving me a little squeeze.

My mother’s hands go to my waist, holding me gently. “And everything’s okay? Both of you are fine?”

I nod happily. “So far, so good. We go back in a couple of days, and we’ll probably be monitored more closely than some, but the doctor didn’t see any reason to be concerned.”

Chandler nudges me gently. “Show them the picture.”

Excitedly, I open up the drawer on the end table, pulling out one of the many copies we now have of the first sonogram. My parents ooh and ahh over it, and they look truly thrilled.

I look over at my husband, and he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him in the entire time I’ve known him. My heart swells with love for him and my family. I’m the reason that he’s this happy.

And he’s the reason I’m happy.

Him, and my perfect, wonderful life.


	12. Chapter 12

“Chandler, I promise you won’t hurt the baby.”

I look over at Monica and raise an eyebrow. She’s kneeling next to me on the bed, wearing nothing but her underwear. Fancy underwear; lacy and silky and a tiny bit slutty. I shiver and look away.

“I just don’t feel comfortable with it, Mon.”

“Dr. Rosen said it’s perfectly fine if we have sex. As long as it’s not uncomfortable for me, it’s good.”

“I know what she said. I just…” I don’t know how to explain it to her. I love my wife and I want her desperately, but ever since we found out that she’s pregnant, I’ve been almost scared to touch her too much. Logically, I know that whole thing about women being in a “delicate condition” is a load of crap. I know that pregnant women do a lot of the same things that non-pregnant women do, sex included. But this baby is such a miracle, such a surprise, that I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Do you think you’re going to poke the baby in the head or something?” I cringe at the mental image, even though I know it’s not possible. “Because, honey, I love you _and_ your penis, but it’s not _that_ big.”

“I don’t know if insulting my penis is the best way to get me to put out.”

“I’m just saying that it’s not getting into my uterus.”

“Okay, but what if all that…motion jars the baby loose?”

She rolls her eyes but shifts a little closer to me, angling her body so that I have a great view of her cleavage. I catch a whiff of her perfume or lotion or whatever it is that always makes her smell so fantastic and feel my body react to her. Her fingers dance across my stomach, my muscles twitching beneath her hand. “Chandler, we’ve had sex while I was pregnant.”

“But not since we found out about it.”

“I’m aware. But I seem to recall us having quite a few rounds of pretty vigorous sex. Just, what? Two days before I took the pregnancy tests, we had sex that was downright _nasty_.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it ’nasty,’” I argue, even though my memory of that particular occasion says otherwise.

“Really?” Her hand casually slides under my t-shirt and slowly inches its way up chest. “I think being bent over the kitchen counter while I was in the middle of making dinner is kind of nasty. Especially since I was in the middle of making food to send to my brother. And all the lights were on and the curtains were open and it’s likely that we had an audience.”

“Well, you’ve just been so _responsive_ lately, I thought I could get away with it.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I’ve been hornier than hell. I guess I have the excess hormones to thank for that.”

“Yeah, I thought all that part was supposed to kick in during the second trimester.”

“Every woman’s different, Chandler. Apparently, pregnancy makes me randy. And if you thought it was bad _then_...” Her voice drifts off as she presses her lips to mine. My hands slide up into her hair and I get lost in my wife for a few moments.

I pull away reluctantly, still not convinced. “Monica, seriously; I know all the research and the studies and what the doctor said, but when it comes down to it, you’re still technically a high-risk pregnancy. What if…” I can’t even finish that thought.

She sighs in frustration but scoots closer to me. “What about what your _wife_ is saying? Do you really think that I’d do anything to hurt the baby? Do you think that I’d be willing do this if I thought for one second that it was a bad idea?”

She does have a point. “I guess not.”

“Honey, I love you. You’re the only guy I’ve slept with since 1998. More to the point, you’re the only guy I’ve _wanted_ to sleep with since then. You know that you’re the best sex I’ve ever had, and that no one has been able to hold a candle to you. But if you don’t put out soon, I’m going to have to consider having an affair.”

I start, staring at her. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I really, really want to have sex _with you_. I know for a fact that you are the only one who can scratch this particular itch. But I’m so antsy right now that I feel like I could literally hump a tree. I actually _need_ to have sex. I _need_ to have it with you. In all honesty, it probably won’t take me long, either. Your job will probably be over pretty quickly.”

“Well, can’t I just do some other stuff to you? I know more than one way to make you orgasm.”

She shakes her head, her lips suddenly at my ear, her teeth nipping the lobe. “Nope. I need to have an orgasm from actual sex. Look, I didn’t say any of this made sense. I’m just telling you what my body is telling me. I need to feel _you_ inside of _me_.”

My entire body shudders, and my libido is trying like hell to take over, my reasoning for holding her off seeming weaker and weaker. “Monica, I don’t want to hurt _you_.”

She rolls away from me, frustrated. “Chandler, you could never, _ever_ hurt me.” I see her eyes get shiny with tears and I mentally beat myself up; the last thing I want to do is upset her, and I doubt I can completely chalk this mood swing up to hormones. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to feel attractive. My stomach is going to grow, my feet and ankles are going to swell, and who knows what else. Right now though, I feel incredibly sexy.” There’s no denying that there’s something different about her now. The changes are subtle right now, and someone who hasn’t dedicated his life to knowing each and every inch of her body might not notice, but I can see them. Her hips are curvier, her breasts are a little fuller, there’s a very slight rounding to her stomach, and I’ll be damned if she isn’t actually glowing. It’s like there’s some sort of light that’s been turned on inside of her and it’s radiating out from her soul. Altogether, she’s becoming more attractive by the day.

I roll over to face her, caressing her cheek. “Mon, you will never be anything less than beautiful to me.”

“Then why don’t you want me?” she whispers.

I slide closer to her, kissing her gently. “I _always_ want you.” My erection pressing into her insistently should be proof enough of that.

“Please make love to me.”

And I’m lost; I can’t deny her something so simple, so basic, something that I’ve given her willingly and gladly for years. I pull her into my arms and kiss her senselessly as she groans into my mouth. My fingertips slide across her hip and she shivers beneath me, pressing her body against mine, draping her leg over mine. She’s insanely responsive right now.

I give her a nudge, pressing her into the mattress for a few moments before my brain snaps to attention and I pull away from her. “I don’t know if I should…I mean….”

Fortunately, she seems to understand my dilemma and pushes me onto my back. “I’ll be on top,” she breathes, crawling onto me, fusing her lips to mine once more.

My hands slide up her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra for a moment before it pops open. She shifts her arms so it slides off of her, flinging it over her shoulder. I gently trace a fingertip down one of her breasts. “How do they feel?”

She shudders at the contact. “Sensitive,” she gasps. “Wonderfully sensitive.”

I flick at her nipple with my tongue. “Let me know if it’s too much.” I carefully take her into my mouth, and she lets out a high-pitched moan, grinding her hips into me. Encouraged, I suckle harder and she gasps, arching her back into my face. Her hips start rocking against me furiously, and I can’t help but be amazed at how turned on she is right now, how fast she got there. I’m still fully clothed and I’m pretty sure she’s on the brink.

All of a sudden she whimpers, moving against me erratically, her fingers digging into my shoulders, gasping into my ear. “Oh, my God,” she moans, still pushing against me.

I kiss my way across her chest, tasting the perspiration that’s already there. “I thought you needed actual sex,” I tease.

“Apparently I needed that first,” she groans, her head dropping to my shoulder as she collects herself.

“Should I bother to take my clothes off, or—” I’m interrupted by Monica suddenly grasping the bottom of my shirt and yanking it over my head. I sit up and clutch her to me, her hands pulling my face to hers, kissing me deeply.

“Pants?” I mumble around her mouth and she groans in frustration, her hips rocking slowly against mine once more. Finally she slides off of me, standing next to the bed as she pulls down her underwear, kicking it off somewhere behind her.

“Hurry,” she says frantically as I pull my pajama pants off, taking care not to injure myself in the process. She finishes the job by yanking them off my ankles and tossing them somewhere in the vicinity of the rest of our clothes. I realize this is the first time I’ve really seen her naked since we found out about the baby and I’m completely stunned, though I can’t exactly put my finger on what it is. Maybe it’s all in my head, but I could swear that she is literally glowing right now, that there’s a light coming off of her that just radiates “happy.”

A moment later, she climbs back on top of me, impaling herself on me, her head thrown back as she lets out a loud, “Ahhhhhhhhh.” Somehow, this feels different, too, though I don’t know exactly why; it feels phenomenal. She starts moving against me frantically and I grab her hips, stilling her motions.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. We don’t have to rush it.”

Her eyes fly open, the expression on her face bordering on desperate. “I don’t know if I have the ability to take my time right now.” She clenches herself around me and I gasp. The combination of having gone a few weeks without sex and my incredibly hot wife being even hotter now that she’s pregnant is almost more than I can take. I flop back against the pillows, groaning.

“Let me do the work,” she says, and I look at her curiously. A wonderfully lascivious smile spreads across her face and she grinds herself against me. My hands come to rest on her thighs, stroking her soft skin gently.

Her hands slide across mine as she moves against me a little faster and I breathe deeply, trying to control myself.

I watch as her hands move gently across her stomach, sliding up to her breasts, cupping herself. She squeezes her breasts fiercely and I can’t help but groan, unbelievably turned on by what she’s doing to herself. One hand slides up into her hair, the other moving up her chest slowly, dragging across her neck, and she gasps under her own ministrations. I stare at her, fascinated; how I’m able to maintain any semblance of control is beyond me at this point.

One of her hands braces on my thigh, the other coming back to play with her breasts, and she starts to slide up and down me faster. Her head falls back, her mouth dropping open, happy noises echoing throughout the room.

Unable to control myself, I thrust my hips up into her and she gasps. I do it again and watch a smile spread across her face. “Oh, yeah.”

“Good?” I ask as I bend my knees a little, bracing my feet on the bed, giving myself better leverage.

“So very good,” she moans as I shift deeper into her, her hips picking up the pace.

“Can I help now?” I love watching her—I always have. Seeing her naked, writhing in pleasure on top of me, moaning and gasping has always been incredible. But I like to be hands on, too. Participating is always much more fun than being a spectator.

“Get in here,” she gasps, and my hands immediately fly into action, sliding up her sides, down her arms, across her stomach, landing on her breasts, squeezing gently at first, but then with a bit more pressure. She gasps and moans, seemingly enjoying what my hands are doing to her, her hips moving against me forcefully.

“Oh, Chandler,” she whimpers. “Oh, God, YES.”

My hands slide to her back and I tug at her gently, trying to pull her to me. She falls against my chest, her arms snaking around me, and I pull her lips to mine. I dig my fingers into her hips, encouraging her movements, speeding her up, my own hips slamming into hers as quickly as possible. Her knees dig into my sides, gripping me as we push and pull at each other.

She tears her lips away from me, gasping, and presses her forehead into my chest, her back arching up. I feel her arms unravel from around me, her fingertips digging into my biceps, and I moan at the sensation.

“Oh, God,” she whimpers. “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, ohmyGod ohmyGod ohmyGod.” Her voice gets louder with every syllable. Her hips move against me, the pace increasing to an impossible speed.

Out of nowhere, a scream like I’ve never heard rips out of her throat, her hands holding my arms down into the mattress as her body suddenly arches into mine, throwing her head back. She slams against me as what may be the most intense orgasm ever hits her. I’m so surprised by it that I pause for a few moments, watching it happen, completely entranced with her. I feel her clench around me and my body takes over, only needing a few more thrusts before I’m shuddering beneath her, grabbing at her frantically, trying to pull her closer, driving into her as I empty myself into her.

Her arms start to shake and she collapses on top of me, moaning into my ear as she gasps for breath.

“Question,” I pant, and she makes a noise against me, letting me know she’s listening. “If you had to choose between food and sex, which would you give up?”

“Food,” she moans, her voice sounding hoarse. “I’ll never eat again if we can always have sex.”

I wrap my arms around her, feeling smug. A year ago, she answered that question with “sex” without hesitation. Maybe it’s her rampaging hormones talking now, but it’s still nice to hear it.

Although, we’ve had a good deal of success with mixing food and sex over the years, so I’m sure we can figure out a way to keep both.

“God, that was amaaaaaazing,” she groans, lifting her head to look at me, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

“Sorry I tried so hard to hold you off,” I answer, running a finger up and down her spine.

“Totally worth the wait.” She leans up and kisses me briefly. “Wanna go again?”

I’m fairly certain my eyes bug out of my head. “Uh, Mon…”

“I’m just teasing you, Chandler.” She rests her head against my chest, snuggling into me. “Take some time to recover. I’ll even let you have ten minutes.”

“Holy hell, woman; are you trying to kill me?”

“You won’t be ready for another round?” she asks, wiggling her hips against me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel myself start to recover.

“Is this what sex with you is going to be like for the next few months?”

“Mmmmmm, possibly. Probably. I mean, I feel satisfied but no less horny, so you do the math.”

In my mind, I’m all for it; I just hope my body can keep up. “I’m gonna need to invest in Viagra.”

She chuckles for a moment before she stops and looks up at me. “Maybe we could do that.”

“Monica, I was kidding. I’m sure I’ll find some regular way to keep up with you.”

She shrugs, causing her breasts to slide up and down my chest appealingly. “It’s always an option.” Her lips attach themselves to my neck, her teeth biting at the delicate flesh. “So…what do I have to do to get you up and running again?”

I shiver a little. “I’m suddenly very, _very_ glad that your parents are watching the kids for the day.”

She looks at me and laughs. “Oh, God, yeah. They’re _way_ too impressionable to have been around for that one. I just hope the baby’s ears haven’t developed yet.”

My fingers slide in between us to stroke her stomach. “This poor little peanut. It needs tiny little headphones to block out all the noise.”

“Can you imagine that sonogram picture? ‘Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Bing; your baby looks nice and healthy, growing properly—is that a Walkman?!’”

“Our baby could be cutting edge.”

“Cutting edge fetus or not, I don’t think my body is capable of producing tiny electronics.”

“But imagine if you could. College for the three of them would be paid for.”

“Damn my body and its ability to only create life.”

That brings me back to the present. “I think being able to create life is more than enough.”

She smiles at me happily and we kiss each other tenderly. “Yeah, that’s probably enough,” she agrees.


	13. Chapter 13

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Chandler asks me as we walk up the stairs to Ross and Rachel’s apartment. Chandler insisted on carrying both car seats and by extension both babies, leaving me with only the diaper bag. I would like to insist that I’m not weak and helpless, but considering the new baby is doing its best to drain every extra ounce of energy I have I let him do the heavy lifting.

“They’re our best friends in the whole world—I think they should be the first people we actually tell about the baby. Four months seems like a pretty safe number to at least let _them_ know.” Truthfully, I’m still terrified to tell people that I’m pregnant, even though my doctor keeps assuring me that all is well. So far, only my parents know about the baby, as well as my manager, who has been amazingly supportive and very helpful with my recently specialized needs. But I also really want to be able to talk to Phoebe and Rachel about this. And if, knock on wood, something happens to the baby, we’ll at least have a larger support group to help us out.

We get to the third floor landing and I stop, leaning against the wall. Chandler pauses and looks back at me, eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I know you’re the one doing the hard part right now. I just need a minute.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just exhausted. I didn’t expect all these stairs to be such a chore.”

He smiles, leaning in to kiss me, somehow keeping the twins in their seats from hitting the wall. Superdad. “You’re walking up stairs for two; you’re allowed to get tired.”

“_You’re_ walking up stairs for three,” I remind him.

He just shakes his head. “Not even a little the same.”

“All I can say is that I’m _really_ glad we moved out of the apartment. I don’t know that I could handle walking up and down five flights of stairs every day.” I heave myself away from the wall, my hand running over my ever-so-slightly rounded stomach before I give my sweater a tug, trying to make sure I don’t actually _look_ pregnant. “Next time, I don’t care whose idea it is, we have the gathering at our house.”

Chandler nods in agreement as we start back up the stairs; the two of us have found that most things are better at our house. We have a huge kitchen that allows me to make really awesome meals, we have a fantastic dining room with an actual dining table that can comfortably seat ten, our living room has tons of space for everyone to spread out in, and, best of all, all of the twins’ stuff is already there. It’s much easier to drag them into the city now that they’re almost nine months old, but it’s always much simpler to have people come to us.

Plus, we both just really love our house.

We reach the apartment door and Chandler hands Erica to me, and I pass the diaper bag to him. We haven’t completely worked out how we’re going to tell everyone about the baby, but going in there with Chandler carrying both of the twins would probably raise questions right away.

“Can you imagine trying to make this trip with _three_ carriers?” I ask in a whisper.

Chandler gives me a look. “Not until just now. They’re definitely going to have to come to _us_ for a while.” He leans in and gives me another quick kiss. “I love you.” He reaches out and runs a finger gently down my stomach. I smile at him then knock on the door, turning the knob a moment later. We’re greeted by a chorus of hellos and our friends’ smiling faces, and I feel a little bit of horror that we’re late.

“We’re the last ones here?” I exclaim. “I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it, Mon,” Ross tells me, coming over to kiss my cheek. “You have to come the farthest with the most stuff. You’re only about two minutes behind Phoebe and Mike, anyway.”

Phoebe comes up to hug me as Ross moves on to Chandler, whispering in my ear, “Totally saved your ass.” I shake my head as I give my friend a squeeze, and an instant later she’s taken Erica’s carrier out of my hand, whisking the baby away.

“Okay. Good to see you, too.” I look over at my husband and see that Jack, too, has been confiscated.

“We’re superfluous, apparently. If the twins could get here on their own, I don’t think they’d care if they saw us.”

“That’s not true, man,” Joey says, pulling the two of us in for a hug. “We miss you guys, too. You’re just not as cute as they are.” He pauses, looking at me teasingly and winks. “Well, maybe you are, Mon.”

I roll my eyes and pull him in for another hug; oddly, we’ve seen him the least since moving to Westchester. The “Joey Room” has gone mostly unused, though fortunately it’s not because he’s still upset about us buying the house. _Days Of Our Lives_ has been keeping him busier than ever, he’s been popping up in commercials and other TV shows left and right, and he’s even been spending time out in LA. Chandler and I make sure to point him out to the twins whenever possible, and he calls a lot just to talk to them. They seem to like his voice and recognize him instantly whenever they _do_ get to see him.

“Hey, you guys.” I look up and see Rachel coming at us, Emma in tow. The little girl’s face lights up when she sees Chandler and me and comes barreling at us. Before I can react, Chandler bends down and scoops her up, stopping her from tackling me without looking like he’s trying to stop her from tackling me. Emma throws her arms around her uncle and squeezes; Chandler pretends she’s squeezing too hard and dramatically drops to the couch while she giggles. I sit next to them on the arm of the couch and kiss the back of her head.

I hear Jack giggling and look up to see the twins surrounded by people; Ross and Rachel with Jack, and Mike, Phoebe, and Joey with Erica. Chandler wasn’t completely wrong—they are much more interested in seeing the babies than they are in seeing us.

“Hey, where’s Ben?” I finally ask, and Ross glances in my direction for only a moment.

“He’s at a sleepover. I guess when you’re almost ten, spending the evening with your family instead of your friends doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, and I figured if I forced him to be here, he’d just complain the whole time about not being with his friends.”

“Fair enough,” Chandler answers and Emma squirms off his lap and starts tugging his hand.

“Come on,” she demands.

“What’s up, Emma?” he asks, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

“See my dolls.” Chandler shrugs and allows himself to be led away, and I can’t help but grin as I watch him go. Those two have had a strange, wonderful bond for some time now; she responds very well to him, and I think part of it is because he can be so childlike, but in the best way possible. Who knew that Chandler Bing would have such a knack with kids?

Well, I kind of knew. Between watching him interact with Ben all these years, Frank Junior’s triplets, and just the general patience he has anytime he interacts with children no matter _where_ he happens to run into them, it was pretty easy to see even years ago that he’d be a good father.

I’m just so incredibly glad that I get to reap the benefits.

Erica’s crying startles me out of my reverie and my head turns to Phoebe, who looks horrified.

“Monica, I broke your baby!” I stand up, biting my lip as my vision swims for just a second, and take my daughter.

“It’s okay. They’re just going through the whole separation anxiety thing. Well, Erica more than Jack. She’s teething and cranky and just needs a lot of Mommy and Daddy. Plus, you know, too many faces at one time in a place that’s not home.” I look over at my son, who is perfectly content to be held by his uncle. Erica’s tears subside almost instantly, one of her tiny hands grabbing onto my shirt, little face breaking out into a smile.

“Ohhh. She’s a wily one, isn’t she?” Phoebe asks, tickling Erica’s little foot, making her giggle.

“Eri, tell your aunt Pheebs how much you love her.” Erica looks at me, wide-eyed. “Give her a kiss.”

“Does she know how to do that?”

I shrug, bouncing Erica on my hip a little. “In a manner of speaking. Lean in.”

Cautiously, Phoebe leans down to Erica’s level and I shift her forward. Erica leans toward Phoebe with her mouth open, landing against Phoebe’s cheek.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” she says as Erica slobbers on her cheek.

“She hasn’t figured out how to pucker yet, but she does get the concept of kissing. Jack’ll do it, too, if you ask him,” I say to Ross and Rachel.

“Can I have a kiss, Jack?” Rachel asks immediately, and Jack leans into his aunt, drooling on her face.

“Me next, me next!” Joey exclaims, and Phoebe moves out of the way for him. Erica giggles as she “kisses” her uncle Joey.

I look over their heads at Mike. “Uncle Mike? While she’s giving it away?”

Mike’s eyes widen for a moment and he smiles. “Uncle Mike?”

He looks surprised at the endearment, and I guess maybe we haven’t spent nearly enough time with Mike and Phoebe since the twins were born. “Well, yeah. What else would you be? Aunt Phoebe and her husband Mike? ‘Uncle Mike’ will be easier for them to say.”

Phoebe rubs Mike’s arm and he leans in to Erica. “Sure, I’ll take one of those.” The baby laughs as she slobbers on his face, too.

I hear Emma giggle and look up to see her walking out of her room wearing a tiara. Chandler follows a moment later, also wearing a tiara. I burst out laughing; Erica looks up at me and laughs, too. Chandler lifts an eyebrow at me. “Is there a problem?”

I bite my lip and shake my head. Once our kids realize their dad is cool with being dressed up like a doll, it’s all over.

Ross looks up and starts laughing. “Dude, what are you wearing?”

Chandler casually struts over, making sure the tiara is still in place. “I’m a pretty princess,” he answers, leaning down and kissing Jack’s head. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

“Pretty,” she answers, nodding. Rachel picks up her daughter and buries her face in Emma’s hair, trying to hide her laughter.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Chandler says, and Erica points at him.

“Ghee!”

He nods at her. “See? She likes it.” He kisses her head; I kiss his forehead in the process.

“Our kids are so lucky,” I whisper, meaning every word. He smiles and puts his arm around my waist. Jack nearly flings himself out of Ross’s arms, aiming toward us. My eyes grow wide and my heart stops for a moment, even though I know my brother is more than capable of holding onto his nephew.

“Bah bah bah!”

“Okay, okay,” Chandler tells him, pulling him into his arms. “We’re going to pretend that ‘bah bah bah’ really means ‘dada,’ right, buddy? It’s close enough for right now.”

“Dah!” Jack exclaims, waving his arms.

“Halfway there,” I tell Chandler, going over to the diaper bag. “Honey? They should probably eat now before we get all caught up in everything else.” I pull out a couple of jars of food and hand them to my husband, knowing he’ll do the honors. Of all things, the smell of their baby food has been making me queasy lately, which, logically, I know is insane because it’s just regular food all puréed. My body doesn’t seem to care, though. And if it’s not their jarred food, it’s their formula; they’ve started eating a larger variety of foods, but even when just traveling into Manhattan, it’s easier to bring food in jars.

It’s really fun not being able to feed your own children without vomiting, though.

Also, it’s _really_ fun to find out that not only can morning sickness hit you at any time of the day, but that for some lucky women, it can last past the first trimester. Still, I try to just grin and bear it; I thought I’d never get the _chance_ to even have morning sickness, so I hate to complain about it.

Even so, more people should prepare women for this.

“Hey, now,” Joey says, holding up a hand. “Don’t be whipping out your breasts in the middle of the living room. I know it’s a natural, beautiful thing, but I can’t look at a woman’s chest and not be expected to think things.”

We all turn to stare at him. “First of all, you shouldn’t be looking at a woman’s chest when she’s breastfeeding. Second of all, I didn’t give birth to them, so I _can’t_ breastfeed them.” I love the guy—I really do—but he’s dumber than a box of hair sometimes.

“Oh,” he answers, shuffling his feet. “Your boobs looked bigger, so...”

Chandler purses his lips, staring down his friend. “I’m _so happy_ that you just can’t seem to stop ogling my wife.”

I look over and see Ross giving Joey the same exact look. “Yeah. It’s awesome.”

“Your boobs do look bigger, Mon,” Phoebe throws in, and Rachel shrugs in agreement. “New bra?”

I look around the room; Mike and Ross look incredibly uncomfortable with the conversation. Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey all seem curious about the state of my underwear. “Actually, yes,” I answer, which is technically the truth; I’ve already had to start buying maternity bras, though most of the rest of my clothing has stayed the same.

“Oooh! Can I see?”

“Uh,” I take a step into Chandler, pulling Erica closer against me. “I don’t think so.” She picks that moment to start smacking her hand against my chest, and I fight as hard as I can not to cringe in pain as she hits my overly-sensitive flesh. I gently grab her fist and look down at her. “Erica no.” She scrunches up her face at me; already, she’s less than fond of the word “no.” I keep my eyes trained on her, waiting to see her next move. Her eyes flit over to her father, her strongest supporter. Chandler carefully avoids her gaze, choosing instead to start swaying Jack back and forth, making zooming noises.

Her eyes return to me and she tells me, “Deedeedeedeedeeeee.” I release her hand, and she reaches her hand out again, this time gently grabbing the collar of my shirt. I kiss the top of her head and realize all of our friends are staring at me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adult win a staring contest with a nine-month-old,” Ross says, looking impressed.

“That’s because no one else has ever been Monica,” Chandler answers, sounding proud. I think he’s hoping I’ll be able to stare the kids into submission forever, and, honestly, it would be much easier and much more effective than yelling at them.

I smile over at him and feel my stomach churn violently. My eyes go wide as I try to inhale deeply, hoping it’ll pass without incident. Chandler looks alarmed, and I know that means my face has suddenly gone pale. I feel the familiar cold sweat break out across my body and I shove Erica into his arms and bolt for the bathroom. I vaguely hear my friends asking if I’m okay as I slam the door shut and kneel in front of the toilet.

Suddenly, how we’re going to tell everyone about the baby seems a little less of a mystery, though it’s possible that none of them will make the connection.

I flush and lean back cautiously, waiting to see what happens. My stomach churns again and I lean over the bowl once more, not even sure at this point what’s coming out of me. I’ve been fine all day and the baby had to pick _now_ to do this.

Definitely Chandler’s child with this sort of timing.

I hear a tap at the door, then Chandler’s voice. “You okay, Mon?”

“Yeah,” I croak as I lean against the wall, sure I sound anything but. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The door creaks open and his concerned face peaks in, his hands child-free. “Do you need anything?”

I reach out to flush the toilet again then extend my hands to him. He slowly pulls me to my feet, aware that sudden movements can set me off again, or make me dizzy. He wraps his arms around me and I moan against his chest. “I need to brush my teeth.”

He digs his hand into his pocket, producing my travel brush a moment later. “You okay with using Ross and Rachel’s toothpaste?”

I nod, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Remind me to kiss you when I don’t have vomit breath.”

“Will do,” he answers, kissing the top of my head. “What do you want me to tell everyone?”

I shrug. “Tell them I’ll be out in a minute. Looks like we have the perfect segue for our news, though.”

He nods then backs out of my arms. “Give a yell if you need anything,” he tells me as he closes the door behind him.

I pause, taking a few deep breaths to make sure I’m still okay, before brushing my teeth. As I’m rinsing out my mouth, I feel another wave start to hit me and I lean my hands against the edge of the sink, my head dropping to my chest.

“Oh, come on,” I whisper to my stomach. “Cut me some slack, kid. You’re about to get all kinds of attention so would you just _take it easy_?” I take a few more deep breaths, the nausea finally passing without incident. “Thank you.” I take a look in the mirror, relieved to see that I’m not as deathly pale as I suspected I would be, put the toothbrush in my pocket, and go back into the living room. Phoebe and Mike are each in charge of feeding a twin, Emma standing in between them, observing. Rachel looks up at me and makes a face.

“You okay?” she asks and I nod reassuringly.

“I’m fine.” And really, I am, even if I felt like crap just a couple of minutes ago.

“Mon,” Ross says, wrapping his arm around me sympathetically for a moment before stepping away, afraid he might catch whatever bug he thinks I’m carrying. “You shouldn’t have come out here if you’re sick. We could always get together another night.”

“No, really. I’m okay,” I insist even as my friends look at in disbelief. “Seriously.” I look over at Chandler, who nods slightly and moves to stand next to me, his hand sliding around my hip, his fingers playing with the belt loop of my jeans. I take a deep breath. “Pregnant women get queasy all the time.”

The room falls completely silent. Mike and Phoebe pause midspoonful, and Jack reaches out, grabbing Mike’s hand to bring the food closer. Rachel drops onto the couch, looking stunned. Ross’s hand goes to his chest as his chin quivers. Joey looks back and forth between me and Chandler, looking terribly confused, though no more so than I would expect any of our friends to be.

“Say what now?” he finally asks, breaking the silence. Chandler’s hand pulls me closer and I look up at him, the grin on his face already from ear to ear. 

“You’re…you’re pregnant?” Rachel breathes and I nod, a grin finally splitting my face.

“Oh, my God,” Ross says, bewildered .

“But I thought you couldn’t…” Mike says, his voice drifting off as he looks a little uncomfortable, and I have to remind myself that he hasn’t been a part of our group as long and probably still isn’t completely comfortable with how much we share with each other.

“Not that we ‘couldn’t’,” Chandler corrects. “Just that it’d be tough.”

“You’re pregnant?” Rachel asks again, her face lighting up.

Phoebe stands up, and Mike looks horrified for a moment as he’s left alone with both babies, though Joey swoops in to help take over. “You’re having a baby?” she asks, her eyes filling with tears.

“We’re having a baby,” I confirm, her tears all I need to get my own started, and a moment later, she and Rachel surround me in a hug.

“Hey, I helped,” Chandler says and I laugh, sticking out my arm to pull him into the hug.

“You guys,” Ross says, and I feel him join in.

“I wanna hug, too,” I hear Joey exclaim, and we all break apart long enough to relocate the circle next to the highchairs, adding him and Mike to the group. Ross picks up Emma, who looks a little lost.

“You’re gonna get another cousin, sweetie,” he tries to explain.

“Another baby,” Rachel adds, and Emma seems to understand that part.

“Okay, I love you guys, but—” Before I can finish my sentence, the huddle is broken and I’m being led to the couch, everyone asking at once if I need anything, if I’m all right.

“She’s fine, guys,” Chandler finally says, and I realize he’s with the twins, taking over their dinner. “Our doctor says she’s doing well, the baby is healthy, everything is as it should be.”

Despite everyone’s protests, I stand and move over to Chandler, taking one of the spoons out of his hand. “We’re good,” I say simply. “Everything’s good.”

“Well, how far along are you?” Phoebe asks.

“Oh. About four months.” I hear a collective gasp and look up from feeding Jack; everyone’s gaping at us.

Joey makes a face at us, expressing his displeasure. “You waited four months to tell us?”

I look over at Chandler and we shrug at each other—we figured they’d be miffed that we didn’t tell them sooner.

“We wanted to get past the scary part before we told anyone,” Chandler explains, which seems to do nothing to ease their minds.

“Have you told anyone else?” Ross asks, sounding offended.

“I’ve only told my manager at work,” I assure them. “And that was because the doctor wanted me on light duty until the end of my first trimester, so I _had_ to tell her. Oh, but…Mom and Dad know.”

“What?” he exclaims, his voice pitched way too high, and Erica jumps, startled by the noise.

Chandler looks at him incredulously, but leaves the speaking to me. “They came over on Christmas and Mom just sort of…figured it out. We weren’t going to lie to them. And they’re _so_ excited, Ross.”

“Look, we wanted to tell all of you guys together,” Chandler explains. “Look how hard it was just to plan this night. But now you all know and you can go back to just being excited. We’re having a baby! This is huge!”

“Can I see your belly?” Phoebe asks suddenly, practically hopping over to my side.

“There’s not much to see yet,” I tell her, pulling up my sweater to reveal the thin t-shirt underneath. But from the look on her face, I guess the difference must be noticeable to her.

“Aww. Hi, baby,” she says, putting her hand on my stomach.

“Where?” Emma demands, appearing at my side suddenly.

“In here, sweetie,” I answer, gesturing to my stomach.

She looks at me doubtfully. “That tummy,” she tells me sagely.

“You’re right. But there’s a baby _inside_ my tummy,” I try to explain, even though I know it’s probably pointless.

Rachel comes over to us, putting on hand on Emma’s shoulder and the other on my stomach, tears in her eyes again. “Look at you all pregnant,” she whispers, and for a few moments, I’m overcome with love; this means just as much to our friends as it does to us. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” I answer immediately. “Nauseated, dizzy, sore, emotional, and so unbelievably happy that I can’t even express.”

“How are you handling it?” Phoebe asks Chandler, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“It’s the best thing to happen to us since the twins,” he answers, his face lighting up. “We’re a little nervous, but still…this is the greatest thing that could happen.”

“If you need anything at all, you just let us know,” Rachel adds, giving my stomach a little pat.

“I _knew_ your boobs looked bigger,” Joey exclaims suddenly and Chandler rolls his eyes.

“Boobs?” Emma asks, looking up at the adults around her.

“Thank you, Uncle Joey,” Rachel says through clenched teeth.

“What’d I do?”

I look at the twins and see they’ve both lost interest in eating. We wipe off their mouths with their bibs and pull them out of the chairs. I rub Jack’s back as he burps contentedly into my shoulder; Chandler holds Erica down to Emma’s level, keeping the baby just out of arm’s reach, mostly because Erica is just learning how to pinch things and her arm is already fully extended, straining to reach her cousin.

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration,” Ross says, and seems to have, fortunately, moved past not being the first to know. He springs into action, filling wine glasses with water, and Mike helps pass them out. Once everyone has a glass in hand, Ross speaks up again. “I’m so happy for you guys. I don’t know of anyone who deserves kids more than the two of you, and now you’re going to have _three_ of them. You are great parents, and this baby is so lucky to be part of your family. I love you guys.” It’s simple, but it’s enough to bring the hormonal mess I’ve become to tears. I look at my husband and he’s a little misty, too. “So, here’s to Monica, Chandler, Jack, and Erica, and the new baby.”

“To the Bings,” Phoebe says, lifting her glass into the air, and everyone follows suit, a chorus of “the Bings” filling the air.

Chandler’s arm goes around my shoulders, glass still in hand, taking care not to spill it on me or Jack. I wrap my own arm around his waist, being careful with my glass as well.

“The Bings,” he whispers in my ear and I nod against his cheek.

“The Bings. Always.”


	14. Chapter 14

I bounce Jack on my lap, his face lighting up with each jostle.

I love that these kids take so much joy in such simple little things. But honestly, it makes _me_ see the joy in the little things.

“Jack,” I say, and his dark eyes focus on me. “Can you say, ‘Dada’?” He grins at me, tiny bottom teeth poking out. “Say ‘Dada.’” He laughs at me and I shake my head. Monica keeps telling me it’ll probably be a while before either of them are able to actually speak, but I figure it can’t hurt to put the words out there, maybe give him some ideas.

I stand up suddenly, lifting him straight over my head, his little body going taut, his legs straight out behind him. “It’s Super Baby, here to save the day!” Jack laughs, a huge smile on his face as I zoom him around, trying to make heroic noises. “Super Baby strikes fear in the hearts of villains! Super Baby—able to melt the hearts of women with a single glance! SUPER BABY TO THE RESCUE AHHHHH!”

Jack’s laughter bounces across the room and I can’t even complain when a thin line of drool drips down onto me. On the whole, my kids seem pretty happy. Granted, they haven’t been alive for a year yet, but even with the two of them being occasionally grumpy with their teeth coming in and the general aches and pains that come along with learning how to be a little person, they’re always full of smiles and giggles, and most days, I feel like my whole world revolves around just that.

I zip him around the room for a few more minutes—close to the floor, along the walls, above my head—making noises for him, making faces, anything to get him to laugh some more.

“It scares the crap out of me when you do that.”

I make a screeching noise as we come to a stop in front of Monica, Jack still stretched out in his superhero pose. “It’s the one thing that can stop Super Baby in his tracks—the dreaded Mommy-saurus! Quick, Super Baby—attack her with your Cute Rays!” I move Jack’s face close to hers and make snarfing noises, and even though she tries not to, Monica starts laughing.

“You win this time, Super Baby,” she concedes as Jack drools against her face. “But next time, victory is mine!” She turns her face and starts kissing him rapidly, and he scrunches up as he gets tickled, giggling.

I take pity on my son and pull him away, settling him against my hip. “How’s everybody feeling?” I ask, reaching out first to stroke the hair off Monica’s head, then to gently rub Erica’s back.

“We’re tired,” Monica sighs, and I know she means herself, Erica, and the baby.

“Want me to take her?” I offer, and Monica gives me a doubtful look. “I know—I just want to help.”

Erica was up a good chunk of the night, cranky about her gums. She must be cutting several teeth at once because this is the first time she’s been truly distraught over it. I tried to be helpful; I sat up with her, hoping she’d finally wear herself out, trying to let Monica sleep because she’s still exhausted. But, naturally, all Erica wanted was her mother, and even then, she’d only sleep if Monica was holding her. I woke up this morning to find the two of them curled up on the couch, an infomercial on the TV.

Incidentally, the only time Erica _doesn’t_ sleep on her back with her limbs spread every which way is when she’s under the weather; then, she curls into a little ball and presses herself into her mother’s chest. Even though it’s heartbreaking to see her that way, it’s still one of the sweetest things in the world.

“Baba?” Jack asks, looking at Monica, who nods, looking as if she’s thinking it over.

“Interesting theory,” she tells him.

“Ehh!” This time he points at his sleeping sister, and even though I know he’s mostly just making sounds at this point, I feel a little rush of pride, almost as if he knows that “Erica” starts with an “E.”

“Erica doesn’t feel good, buddy,” I tell him, and he makes a face, smacking his hands against my arms. “I know; it’s upsetting to us, too.” He sighs, sounding almost frustrated, and I get the unnerving feeling that he’s actually trying to say something, but he just can’t speak the language. He’s such a smart little guy; you can actually watch him figure things out, mentally connecting the dots, whether it’s how to hold a spoon or which shapes go in which holes. It’s really quite impressive. While Erica is impulsive, barreling headfirst into everything, getting mad when things don’t go her way, Jack is extraordinarily patient. He’s already the sort that would rather do something once right than try over and over, wearing himself out. I think, as they get older, Jack will be the one who’s able to talk his sister off a ledge, who will explain the things that she’s gotten so frustrated about that she thinks she can’t understand them. Unfortunately, Erica will be the one talk to him into whatever harebrained schemes she comes up with.

That’s not to say that Jack doesn’t have his moments where he gets frustrated with the world around him—though that usually happens when he’s attempting something his little body just isn’t capable of yet—or that Erica isn’t smart, because she is; she’s just not methodical the way her brother is. Erica talks the most right now, but we’re pretty sure Jack will be the one to speak coherently first.

I’m pretty sure Jack is actually a tiny adult.

Monica moves over to the couch almost zombie-like and I can’t help but feel awful—no matter how much we want it, I still did this to her. She doesn’t see it that way, of course; she insists that we were both very active participants in getting her pregnant, and she says she doesn’t care how exhausted she is any given point, she won’t complain. I guess I can understand why she feels that way—it seems ridiculous to complain about something we tried so hard for and that we want so much, but pregnancy looks really hard.

Amazingly, though, it looks really good on her; she may be the walking dead right now, but she still glows all over. And though she won’t show off her burgeoning stomach in public much yet, at home she usually wears some sort of formfitting shirt that clings to her and the baby, more than happy to advertise that she’s pregnant. It’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t keep my hands off her belly.

She looks over at me, and without a word I see her dilemma; I go over and take her arm, helping balance her and Erica as she eases down onto the couch. Erica never even flinches, her mouth hanging open as she naps on her mother’s shoulder. I sit down next to her, standing Jack on my thigh so that he’s facing Monica.

“Can I get you anything?”

She shakes her head wearily, leaning toward me a little. I lean the rest of the way, meeting her in a kiss which is promptly interrupted by Jack yanking Monica’s hair. She cringes and I grab his fingers, pulling Monica’s hair free. “No Jack,” I tell him and he looks at me wide-eyed, as if he’s trying to understand why I would possibly reprimand him.

“He probably needs a nap,” she tells me around a yawn.

“He’s not the only one,” I answer, looking at her pointedly.

“I will, I will. As soon as we get off the phone with your parents, I promise I’ll go lie down.”

Today’s the day we finally tell my parents about the new baby. We probably would have told them before the gang, but it’s nearly impossible to get my mother and father on the phone at the same time. As it is, we had to arrange for it separately; my mother will be calling any minute, and then we’ll have to call my father on the three-way so we can tell them at the same time.

It turns out that it can be incredibly complicated trying to give people good news; someone will inevitably wind up hurt that they weren’t the first ones told, but short of having another wedding, I don’t know how we’d get everyone together again.

Right on time, our phone starts to ring, the caller ID letting us know it is, in fact, my mother. I press the speaker button so we both can hear. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey,” she answers brightly. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” I look over at Monica and she shrugs, trying to tell me that she’s okay, no matter how sluggish she may feel right now. “We’re good.”

“Is Monica there?”

“Hi, Mrs.—Nora.” Monica has had the worst time calling my parents by their first names, though I suspect part of that is because we see them so infrequently.

“How are my grandchildren?”

“They’re great—look, hang on a second, will you, Mom?” I hit the hold button and dial my father’s number, hoping he’ll answer quickly.

Fortunately, the odds are with us today, and my father’s odd, raspy voice answers. “Hi, Chandler.” Ever since Monica convinced me to invite him to the wedding and, by extension, back into my life, he’s been very responsive to any and all communication I’ve had with him. When he found out that he was going to be a grandparent—though we’re still not entirely sure if he’ll be “grandma” or “grandpa”—he was ecstatic, and has already been out here to see the twins a handful of times. I’m not sure if he’s trying to make up for my childhood or if it’s just natural, but he’s really good at being a grandparent.

My mother, on the other hand, means well, and has definitely toned it down for them, but I’m pretty sure that once the kids are older, she’ll be the grandparent they go to when they want to do something no sane adult would permit.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi…Charles,” Monica adds, letting him know she’s here.

“Bahbahbahgah!”

My father gasps, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Was that Jack or Erica?”

“That would be Jack.”

“Hello, handsome boy. Grandpa misses you.”

Monica and I raise our eyebrows at each other and mouth, “Grandpa?” I guess we’ve figured out who he’s planning to be. “Hang on for a second, Dad.” I push a few more buttons on the phone, hopefully managing to connect all three lines. “Okay, I think we’re all here.”

“We?” I hear my mother ask.

“Hello, Nora.”

“…Charles.”

I shake my head in wonder; it’s amazing that after all these years, they’re still mad about the same things. Of course, I’m not one to talk, really; it wasn’t that many years ago that I started trying to move on from my childhood.

“Okay!” I interrupt, and Monica’s fingers slide in between mine. I squeeze her hand gratefully. “We have some news for you guys, actually.”

Their voices trip over each other as they fire off questions, trying to one-up each other, each trying to prove they care more than the other.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Monica finally says. “Everything’s fine. Chandler and I are fine; no, we’re not getting divorced or separated or having problems. The twins are good, we both still have our jobs _and_ our house, no one is sick, no one has died.” I look at her in wonder, amazed that she managed to catch that many questions.

“Actually, what we have is really _great_ news. Monica’s pregnant.”

There’s complete silence on both ends for a few moments before excited chatter spews out from the phone. Jack claps his hands at all the noise, and Erica’s eyes pop open, her head lifting off Monica’s shoulder for a moment before closing her eyes once more, asleep again in an instant.

“Tell us everything,” I hear my father command, and surprisingly, my mother doesn’t object.

“Well, we don’t have any specifics; we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but we _do_ know that it’s healthy. Monica’s doing well, too. No problems so far.”

“How far along are you?” my mother asks.

“Just over four months,” Monica answers, the inevitable grin spreading across her face.

“I was just out there a month ago—” my father starts.

“Me, too!” my mother adds in.

“Does that mean you knew then?”

“You knew then and you didn’t tell either of us?”

I hang my head and sigh; I knew this would an issue. Monica squeezes my fingers again and answers for us. “Well, we wanted to tell you together; we didn’t think it’d be fair to tell one of you, then the other a couple of weeks after. We actually just told our friends the other day, but we would have told you sooner if we could have gotten you both on the phone at the same time before now. Plus, you know, I’ve been really anxious about telling people. The doctor says we’re fine, but given my circumstances…”

“Don’t you worry, darling,” my mother tells her. “You’ll be fine. Bings make very strong, tough babies. I was on bed rest for the last three months I was pregnant with Chandler.”

Well, that’s new. “You were? I never knew that.”

“You came out perfectly healthy; that was all that mattered.”

“Oh, but those were a horrible few months, weren’t they, Nora? Chandler, your mother and I were so scared that whole time.”

“What was it?” Monica asks, her hand leaving mine to gently rub her belly.

“Preeclampsia,” my mother answers. “A mostly mild case. But we were first time parents, so of course we panicked. But Chandler turned out just fine, and only a couple of weeks early.”

“It’s not genetic,” my father chimes in, answering the question I could already see forming on Monica’s lips. “It’s just a high-blood pressure thing, so don’t worry too much about it.”

“When’s the baby due?” my mother asks.

“End of July, beginning of August,” I answer, putting my now free hand on the baby bump, too. “Hey, we sent off some copies of the sonogram pictures and some other stuff to you guys yesterday, just in case you want it.”

“Of course we want it,” my father answers. “The more pictures of our grandchildren the better.”

“I think I speak for your father when I say that we both want to come out and visit before the baby comes, and definitely soon after.”

“Will you two be able to possibly visit at the same time? Without being at each other’s throats, I mean.”

There’s just the briefest moment of hesitation before they both answer, “Of course.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, looking over at Monica; her head is thrown against the back of the couch, her eyes closed, her breathing deep. I look down at Jack and see he’s reclined against my stomach, his little fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, which usually means he’s getting sleepy.

“Hey, guys; I’m sorry I have to end this so soon, but Erica was up most of the night teething, and Monica was up with her—”

“Say no more,” my mother interrupts. “Go take care of your family. Give us a call in a day or two and we’ll talk some more.”

“We’ll let you know when we get the pictures.”

I find it amusing that after all these years of being divorced, they still manage to sound like an old married couple with the “we” and the “us.” I guess when it comes to your kids, some things never really change.

“Okay; we love you guys.”

“I love you, too,” they answer in tandem and a moment later, I hear the dial tone. I nudge Monica and her eyes blink at me sleepily.

“Upstairs,” I tell her and she nods, standing without protest. I make her walk up the stairs in front of me in case she decides to fall asleep standing up, which she has already done more than once, even though she denies it vehemently.

I steer her into the nursery and over to Erica’s crib, where she fortunately goes down without protest. Maybe she’s over the hump for now.

She leans over and presses a sleepy kiss to the side of Jack’s head; mostly asleep already, he snuffles for a moment, rubbing his face against my shirt, before sighing, his tiny body relaxing. I lay him down in his crib, and he immediately turns over, settling onto his stomach. I put my arm around Monica’s shoulders and lead her down the hall to our room. She pulls back the comforter and immediately slides in, her hand capturing mine, giving me a tug. I only have to think about it for a moment before I crawl in next to her; even if I don’t wind up sleeping, I’d still rather get to spend this time with her like this than tooling around the house on my own.

Her arm slides around my waist as she turns into me a little, her bump against my hip.

“Good thing it was another pajama kind of day,” she mumbles against my shoulder.

I chuckle and kiss the top of her head. “Good thing.”

“Hey, what do you think, if it’s a boy, we name it after your father?”

“You want to name the baby Charles?”

“It’s just a thought.”

“No, it’s a nice thought, but I think he’d rather we name the kid ‘Helena.’”

“Nope,” she answers without hesitation. “What about Charles as a middle name?”

“Hmm. That could be okay.”

She hums against my neck, her body relaxing even more. “Good.”

“Yeah, we’ve decided on a middle name for one gender; the hard part is truly over.” I feel her fingers pinch my side and I twist away from her a little. “Ow!”

“Don’t pick on a pregnant woman. I have tears and I know how to use them.”

“Go to sleep, pregnant woman,” I tell her, bringing the comforter over her shoulders. Her deep breathing lets me know that she’s already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N…yeah. Fluff. Pointless fluff. But I wanted Chandler’s parents to find out, too. 
> 
> Also, as a sidebar, I’ve decided that Emma’s birthday is at the end of February—if Rachel was only a month pregnant in the middle of May, and then gave birth late, that would put Emma’s birth in the middle of winter, not summer. This would also make sense for when, at the end of season nine, Monica mentions that she and Chandler have been trying to get pregnant for over a year. Incidentally, it would also mean that Chandler was in Tulsa for the better part of a year, even if he managed to push it back to the end of March or something. Just something to think about.


	15. Chapter 15

I carefully step out of our recently-acquired SUV, watching where I put my feet. Fortunately, the driveway is dry; Chandler must have been hard at work today, shoveling and salting and being very domestic.

I love my husband so much it’s almost insane. Even if it’s not a big deal to some, coming home to a clean driveway is one of the best parts of my day so far. Of course, I realize he did it so I’d be safer walking back and forth from the house, but I still think it’s incredibly sweet. Especially because it’s his day off and he’s pulling double duty with the twins.

Seriously—I have the best husband in the world.

I make my way up to the front door, and I go to put my key in the lock when the door flies open, and I’m greeted by a large bouquet of roses.

“What’s this?” I ask, a grin spreading across my face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Chandler answers, his head finally poking out above the flowers.

“But that’s not until Monday,” I protest half-heartedly, taking the roses from him.

“I have to work on Monday,” he answers, pulling me into the house and closing the door behind me. “And you weren’t expecting anything today, were you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Well, then, come on in, my love.” He takes my coat from me, taking a moment to hang it in the closet. I look around the living room and notice nothing out of place.

“You know,” I say teasingly, turning back to Chandler. “If you’re trying to seduce me, a few candles would help. Maybe some music, something to show that you aren’t just _assuming_ that I’ll put out.”

“First of all,” he tells me, his hands coming up to stroke my belly. “I’m not trying to _seduce_ you; I’m trying to _romance_ you. Second of all, if you think I’m only armed with a bunch of flowers, you’ve got another think coming.”

“So there’s more?”

“We’ll get to it,” he assures me, his arms sliding around my waist to pull me closer, leaning down to kiss me sweetly. “You get the feeling like there’s something between us?”

I giggle a little. My stomach is already starting to make it tough for us to get close. It’s started to pop out a lot more in the last couple of weeks and it won’t be long before I won’t be able to hide it from anyone.

“Where are Jack and Erica?” I ask, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“They’re with your parents for the night.”

I feel an interesting wave of panic wash over me. “The whole night?”

“I know; we’ve tried it before and it never works. What’s it going to hurt to try again, though? If we need to, we’ll go get them in a couple of hours.”

It’s not that I don’t trust my parents with the twins for a night; they managed to raise me and Ross with relatively minor physical harm. It’s more that I hate being away from them for too long. There’s a very large part of me that likes the idea of being able to send our kids off for the night and having an evening to ourselves. We’ve tried it a couple of times and one of us—usually me—breaks down and goes pick them up. I’m sure it’s better for them if they can get the experience of sleeping away from us once in a while, but it’s hell for me. Doesn’t seem to do much for Chandler, either.

But, the two of us can survive for a few hours, I’m sure.

“How was work?” he finally asks.

I shrug. “Kind of slow. Phoebe came in to visit for a little while, and she and my manager Diane decided to draw on me.”

He looks down at me, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “Draw on you?”

I pull out of his arms and lift up my shirt, an intricate heart stenciled on my belly. “What do you think?”

His fingers trace my skin gently, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. “What is this?”

“It’s henna. It’ll only last a week at the most. Of course, I told Phoebe and Rachel about the pictures we’ve been taking, and I guess Phoebe’s been plotting. I think she just wanted to try to talk me into this when she came by today, but Diane was bored so we hid in the office for a little while and now I have a…” I pause, part of me unable to believe I’m going to say this even though I know he’ll appreciate the pun. “I have a heart-on for you.”

He blinks at me for a moment before shaking his head and smiling. “Was that joke my Valentine’s Day present?”

“God, I hope not. But it’ll look nice in the next picture.”

“That it will.” He traces the design on my stomach for a few more moments before he pulls the shirt back over my stomach, kissing me once more. “All right; so, I don’t have anything huge planned—”

“Way to talk it up, honey.”

He gives me a disgruntled look but otherwise ignores me. “_Because_ I didn’t know what you’d be up for. So, if you’ll just follow me…” He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.

“I don’t know if this is the sort of information you’re looking for, but your wife is extraordinarily horny.”

He pauses for just a moment before continuing up to our room. “That’s very good information to have.” I smirk to myself; his voice is an octave lower. It’s nice to know that even in my pregnant state, I can do things to him.

He stops again when we’re outside of bedroom door, turning to face me. “Out of curiosity, are you ever _not_ turned on lately?”

“If I’m awake, I’m turned on. Actually, if I’m asleep, I’m turned on then, too, which is why I keep waking you up in the middle of the night.”

“Anything in particular that sets it off, or…?”

“Nope. Pretty much anything does it for me lately. You could show me a glass of water in there and I’ll be all over you.”

He’s silent for a moment; I have no clue what he’s thinking. “Do you think it’d be possible for us to take a leave of absence from work or something and just have sex until this passes? Because I think I’d be okay with that.”

I laugh and wrap my arms around his waist. “I don’t know if you want to suggest something like that to me at this point. I’ll lock you up in our room and make you my personal sex slave.”

“Haven’t I been your sex slave for years now?”

He has a point; once we hooked up, there was no looking back. We were kind of all or nothing.

I’m definitely glad we went with the “all” option.

“So, what’s behind door number one?”

He grins at me and opens our bedroom door, and I gasp. Candles are everywhere and glowing softly, a fire is roaring in our barely-used fireplace. On the floor is a pile of blankets and every pillow we own and probably a few he went out and bought; next to that is a bucket with what looks like champagne but will probably turn out to be sparkling cider.

It’s magnificent.

Tears fill my eyes and his arm slides around my waist, fingers tracing little circles on the side of my stomach. “It looks like the night we got engaged,” I whisper.

“That’s kind of what I was going for,” he answers softly, gently pushing me into the room. I turn and wrap my arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe.

“Thank you,” I tell him, sniffling. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but thank you.”

“You’re the love of my life,” he answers. “You’ve made me the happiest man to ever walk the planet. You’re the mother of my children. I think that alone is reason enough.”

I let out a watery laugh. “You are _so_ getting lucky, mister.”

“Wait—it gets better!” He leads me over to the makeshift bed and helps me sit down, then drags a cooler out from next to the bed. “I didn’t know what sort of food you’d be into today, or what would make you sick, either, so—”

“I’ll have you know,” I interrupt, proudly, “that I have been feeling much better lately. I haven’t thrown up in days. I’ve been trying to take it slow, just in case, but it seems that all food is now good with the baby. _But_…I’m not feeling that hungry right now.” I look up at him, hoping that it comes across in some way as sexy.

It seems to do the trick because in an instant, he’s on the floor next to me. “You sure? I mean, there’s no rush.”

“Oh, there’s a rush,” I assure him. “Remember how I said that pretty much everything is a turn on right now?” He nods, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Well, imagine what a romantic gesture like this does to me.” I don’t let him answer before I slide my hand to the back of his neck, dragging his lips to mine. He makes a noise of surprise, but a moment later I feel his hands in my hair, keeping my mouth to his. I push him back against the pillows, crawling on top of him a second later. His hands find their way under my shirt, and everywhere he touches feels electric.

Frantically, I pull my shirt over my head and reach for him again, but his hands are already on my belly, his touch reverent.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

“Talking to me or the baby?”

“Both of you. God, Monica—can you believe that there’s a little bitty person in there? We _made_ someone.”

I try desperately to get my body to calm down; he’s so sweet when he talks about the baby and his awe of it all is simply amazing. It’s not easy, though—the need I feel for him lately is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s almost primal. I wasn’t kidding when I told him I’m constantly turned on, though that’s not entirely true; I’m constantly turned on by _him_. I can think of little else but him and what I want to do to him, what I want him to do to me, the things we can do together. I actually ache for him; even when we’re together, even in the middle of sex, I ache because I want more of him. It’s intense. It’s incredibly distracting and not at all practical, but I want him more and more each day. I’m lucky enough, though, to have a husband who is more than willing to meet my needs as often as he possibly can.

Then he does something incredibly sweet and thoughtful and romantic like this and…there are no words for how I feel. “Love” certainly isn’t strong enough. He actually completes me; the pregnancy hormones have only exacerbated the fact.

I put my hands on his and wait, letting him have the moment. At random intervals, we’ve both been overcome with the sheer wonder of it all, completely amazed that somehow, despite all the odds against us, we actually managed to create another little person. Now that my body’s really kicked it into high gear with all the changes and growing, he can’t seem to stop staring or touching. I’ve woken up in the middle of more than one night to find him with his hand on my stomach, whispering to the baby. I don’t say anything, though—I want him to be able to have that time if he needs it.

“I really like this heart,” he finally says. “It’s…perfect.”

“I’m gonna rip your clothes off of you, you know.”

He bursts out laughing, and my hormones have managed to completely kill the sweet moment. “Need it that bad, huh?”

“More than I can possibly express.”

He gives my hips a gentle tap and I shift off him, already working on the button of my jeans. So far, I’ve been able to get away with not switching over to maternity pants by buttoning my pants under my stomach. It works for the most part, but I definitely get the feeling I’ve almost completely surfed that particular wave. My body really is changing and growing at an almost alarming rate. I stand up to pull them and my underwear off, tossing them in the general direction of the hamper.

I look over and see my husband staring at me, his shirt still hanging off one hand.

“What?” It takes everything in me not to cross my arms over my body, suddenly very self-conscious about myself.

“You are so gorgeous,” he breathes, and I can see chest starting to move faster, his breathing rapid.

“Really? What do you see when you look at me?”

His mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find the right words. “Perfection.” He stands up, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. “You. Are. Perfect.”

He means it—he means it wholeheartedly, and that’s all that matters. Our arms go around each other, our lips fusing once more. We sink to our knees on the blankets, his hands deftly removing my maternity bra and dropping it to the floor next to us.

“Is this okay down here?” he mumbles around my lips. “On the floor, I mean.”

“It’s perfect,” I assure him.

“’Cause we can move to the bed if that’d be better.”

“I love it. Roaring fireplace, blankets, pillows; let’s do this.” I slide my hands down to his hips, shoving his boxers down to his knees and wait as patiently as I possibly can while he maneuvers them down the rest of his legs.

He lies down on his side, crooking his finger at me. Almost reluctantly, I slide down next to him, so ready for him I almost can’t stand it. Then his lips are on me and all thoughts of rushing this moment are gone. Instinctually, I fall onto my back, pulling Chandler with me. Carefully, he shifts so he’s mostly on the floor next to me and part of me feels bereft—one of the best feelings in the world is to have him on top of me, pressing into to me, and it’ll be a while before I get to feel that again.

His hands slide down my body, caressing me gently, squeezing my breasts, and every inch of me feels like it’s on fire. Everywhere he touches comes to life, insanely responsive to him. One hand slides down my stomach, down my pelvis, his fingers gently caressing me, my hips lifting off the ground to meet him. I feel his fingers slip inside me and I groan, my fingers digging into his arms.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, clenching myself around him. We just had sex last night, but with the way my body is responding to him, I’d never know it. My hips push against him, needing more, anxious for more.

I gently grab his hand and pull away from him slowly, his lips following me. I rise up to my knees and turn around and I hear his breath catch. “Doggy?”

“Oh, yeah.” If I can’t have his body pressed against me from the front, at least I can feel it against my back; he’ll be able to hold me close.

I feel his hands slide up my calves, up the backs of my thighs, down my back as I drop my hands to the floor, bracing myself. I feel his lips trace up my spine, his teeth nipping at my skin, and for a moment I think I’m going to fall apart—just this, this simple touching, is enough to make me see stars. His fingertips dig into my hips and I feel him positioning himself behind me for just a moment before he pushes inside of me and a moan rips out of me. I hear him breathing heavily and I push myself against him.

“God, Monica,” he groans, his hips rocking against me. I whimper in happiness. I push against him more insistently, my fingers clutching at the blanket beneath me, holding on for dear life.

He leans forward, draping himself over me carefully, his hands sliding down my arms, his fingers linking with mine. I think he misses the front-to-front contact as much as I do.

He moves against me slowly, ignoring me as I try to push against him, trying to increase the contact. I feel his lips slide slowly across the back of my neck, down to my shoulder, and back the other way, and I whimper. I feel my entire being shaking in anticipation, marveling at how he somehow manages to mix foreplay in with sex.

His hands slide back up my arms, and I feel him tilting back, my body chilling at the lack of contact. “Noooooo,” I moan.

“Sit up,” he gasps, tugging at me for a moment, his hands grabbing onto my upper arms. I push myself off my hands and he pulls me against him, his hands sliding around my body. I brace my thighs on the outside of his and press my back against him—this is even better than before.

My arms come up over our heads, reaching back to grab onto him, my fingers dig into his back. His hands slide down my legs, his fingers digging into my inner thighs, encouraging me to move against him, to set the pace. I lift off him for a few seconds before I slide back down on him, slowly, prolonging the contact. Now that I have him where I want him, I don’t feel as much need to rush.

I push against him slowly, my moans filling the room, and his hands slide up my stomach, gently, until he reaches my breasts. His hands squeeze me, playing with my sensitive nipples and my hips speed up involuntarily. I tilt my head back, my lips searching for his. He kisses me, panting against my mouth, leaning his forehead against mine when the need to breathe is too great.

The heat from the fire in front of us warms our bodies, makes us sweat and casts us in a warm, soft glow. I feel like _I’m_ on fire. I can’t believe we haven’t done this before now—it’s incredibly erotic and romantic. I feel a coiling in the pit of my stomach, and I push against him harder, eager for my orgasm, knowing that it won’t be the end for me.

“Right there,” I gasp. “Please—right there.” His hips slam up against me, hitting all the right spots, and that coil unwinds and I thrust against him quickly, my fingernails digging into his soft flesh. My body shudders, our damp skin sliding against each other, a high-pitched noise falling out of my lips, swallowed by his mouth.

My motions slow down and I slide off of him. “Hey,” he pants. “I wasn’t done.”

I turn to face him, straddling his thighs. “Neither am I.” I ram down on him and his eyes go wide.

“Jesus!” His fingers dig into my ass, holding me still for a moment. “Ohgod ohgod ohgod.”

My chest heaves as I try to control myself, my entire body quaking. I need him so badly that I can’t see straight. I take his face in my hands, pressing my mouth to his, kissing him slowly. “I love you,” I whisper, and even though my body is shaking from the effort, I rock my hips against him slowly and he buries his face my neck, moaning.

“God, you feel incredible,” he whispers.

“Just wait,” I moan, digging my fingers into his shoulder blades. I start moving against him a little faster, clenching my inner muscles as I slide up and down him. I feel his hips come up to meet mine, struggling for control, to not let this magical moment end too quickly, and it’s the most phenomenal thing in the world. My head falls back for a few moments as he drives into me, and all I can manage are wordless noises, nonsense, and I don’t care.

Part of me thinks I should be embarrassed to be this easily aroused, that I orgasm as easily as I do now, but the rest of me can only focus on the pleasure, on how good all of this feels, how amazing he feels inside of me, how perfectly we fit together, and how lucky I am to have someone who can do this to me.

I feel his lips work their way up my neck and I shudder, bringing my face back to his, kissing him as deeply as I can as we move against each other.

“I love you,” he moans, and I whimper, pushing my hips against him faster; just hearing him tell me that he loves me is still enough to send chills through my body. My eyes fill with tears, and all that matters right now is everything he makes me feel. It’s intense and overwhelming and utterly perfect.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling myself closer, moving my hips against him a little harder. His fingers grip my back; his entire body is vibrating against me as he tries not to end things.

I slide a hand across his head, tugging at his short hair, and bury my face against his shoulder, moaning.

“Oh, God, Chandler. Ohhhhhhhhh.” I feel like my heart is collapsing in my chest.

He moves against me harder, faster; I can hear him panting in my ear, groaning. “I love you,” he tells me again, and that’s all it takes to push me over the edge.

“Love you,” I yell, gripping at him, my body moving against his, our torsos rubbing against each other furiously as I cry out my pleasure. I feel his body lose control beneath mine, his hips pounding into me, drawing out my orgasm.

Our bodies gradually slow down, our breathing still heavy. I run my hand through his sweaty hair and I feel his lips kiss behind my ear as he slowly lowers us to the pillows behind him, careful to keep our bodies joined.

“I’m so easy right now,” I say quietly.

“Just how I like you.”

I gently pinch his side. “I may be easy but I’m like the freaking Energizer Bunny. I can and _will_ go for a very long time.”

“It’s a good thing I brought a lot of protein up here. I think I’m going to need it.”

“Oh, you will. I can guarantee it.” I slide off him and curl into his side, his arm going around me, keeping us close.

“So, how was this for the ultimate Valentine’s Day cliché?”

I chuckle and press a kiss to his shoulder. “The fire, the rug—”

“Yeah, all that junk.”

“Seriously, I love it. We’ve never done anything like this before, and we’ve hardly ever used the fireplace. This was good.”

“Just good?”

“I’ve had better,” I tell him, sliding my foot up and down his calf.

“Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you get to be mean.”

“I will if I want. Now shut up and feed me.”

I see him looking down at me and I duck my face against his chest, laughing. He nudges me and asks, “So, where do we stand on leaving the twins at your parents for the night?” I cringe, and I think my silence is answer enough. “If it makes you feel any better, I want to get them, too.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Really?”

“Yeah. But, you know, maybe in a few hours. I think we’ve got some more romance stuff to take care of first.” His lips find mine once more, his hand gently running down my side, and all thoughts of food and retrieving my children disappear for just a little while.


	16. Chapter 16

I can’t help but feel a tiny bit smug; all those show tune CDs I have are actually coming in handy.

It turns out that the twins really enjoy dancing to them.

Well, at least as much as they are able to dance at the moment, which mostly includes bopping up and down unless Monica and I are guiding them, which is what we’re doing right now. I’m really not sure where Monica gets this stuff, but she told me that interacting with babies like this—listening to music, dancing, that sort of thing—is good for their development. That’s one of the reasons we constantly talk to them; holding conversations with babies is supposed to help their language skills, which makes sense. Also, we’re not supposed to respond to their baby-talk words, but instead use the actual words of the item they want, which is all well and good once they start actually using one “word” for something. Right now, there’s a lot of pointing and babbling; we’ll still show Jack and Erica what it is they’re pointing to and explain what it is, but I have no idea if it’s doing any good yet. I was also informed that we’re not supposed to stick them in front of the TV and hope they figure out language that way, that we need to engage them, which is fine by me; there’s nothing on television that’s half as entertaining as spending time with my kids.

They’re extraordinarily responsive, though, which seems like a good sign. They talk all the time, even though we have no idea what they’re saying. Even more fascinating, they always talk to each other—what I wouldn’t give to know if they were actually communicating.

“You can wipe that look off your face,” Monica says suddenly. “Just because our kids like _The Sound Of Music_ doesn’t mean you have to get all puffed up about it.”

“Hey; my geeky little habit finally paid off. Our kids are happy, so_ you_ should be happy.”

“I’m happy, but that doesn’t mean I have to be thrilled about you being so smug.”

I try to school my features and concentrate on Erica, whose happy little face is right in front of mine, the four of us sprawled out on the floor. We’ve become such homebodies it’s ridiculous. Even if all we did was go to the coffee house, the group of us would usually find some way to leave the house and do something. Now, it seems like all we want to do is sit at home in our spare time, or rush right home from work, and just be together. We do take them places—when the weather permits, we take them to the park or just walk through the neighborhood. But seeing the world through the eyes of our children is a phenomenal experience, one neither of us wants to take for granted.

Carefully, I give Erica first one finger, then another, for her to grip onto so she’s standing under mostly her own strength.

“Look look look,” I say to Monica, and she grins at our daughter.

“That’s my big girl!” She looks back at Jack, who’s squatting with the help of his mother. Squatting is something he just figured out the other day he could do—so far, it serves no purpose other than looking adorable. But, it seems to thrill him to no end, especially when one of us helps him pop into the air as he straightens out his legs. Despite his relatively serious demeanor, I think he’s a daredevil at heart.

“Hey, Mon,” I say suddenly. “Can I ask you something?”

“I thought we were going to try to start using ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’ instead of our real names around them.”

“Sorry; it’s going to take some getting used to. Plus—it sounds a little dirty.” Hearing Monica call me “Daddy” has done a few odd things to my libido, none of which are the sorts of things I want to associate with my kids.

She chuckles a little, helping Jack spring into the air. “I know. And you can probably get away with ‘Mon’ because it sounds close enough to ‘Mom,’ but I don’t want them trying to call you ‘Chandler’.”

“That could be kind of cute, though.”

“Oh, it’d be adorable, but probably too much of a tongue-twister.” She grips onto Jack with one hand, pointing to herself with the other. “Mama. I’m Mama. Can you say ‘Mama’?”

I feel a little rush hearing her call herself that, and this one isn’t at all inappropriate. I truly hope they actually say her name first. We got excited the other day—Jack actually said “Dada” while looking at me, but a moment later, he looked at Monica and said the same thing. Then he looked at the toy he was playing with and screamed “Dada” while he flung the toy the ground, so we’re pretty sure it was a fluke. It sounds like he’s getting the idea of an actual word, but not quite at the point where he can completely associate the word with an object.

Erica still chatters away nonsensically, full of thoughts and ideas, all of them coming out in a rush of jumbled syllables—too much to say and not enough time to say it all. Most likely, though, once Jack starts to say a few words, she’ll be right behind him, eager to get the same sort of attention.

“I’m sorry—you wanted to ask me something.”

“What’s it like being pregnant?”

A dreamy look comes over her face as she watches our son. “It’s amazing.”

I can’t help but smile at her response. “No, I get that. But what’s it _like_?”

She looks over at me for a second, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I realize I’m probably not articulating myself well, though I can’t really figure out how to ask what exactly it is that I mean. “Having a baby is something I’ll never get to experience, not the way you are, and I just wanted to know what it’s like.”

She pauses, looking thoughtful, pulling Jack onto her lap. “It’s…weird. I don’t know—it’s hard to describe. It feels like your body is doing a million different things at once, like it can’t make up its mind on how it wants to behave. I mean, you saw what happened during the first trimester. I’d be completely fine one minute then nearly asleep the next. My breasts got a lot bigger all of a sudden, which is incredibly painful. It felt like everything made me cry and I couldn’t control it. And the nausea. Oh, my GOD, the nausea. Knowing that any second, any little smell or taste could set me off made me not want to eat at all. Even now, even though I’m mostly over that, I’m still finding things that all of a sudden gross me out. But the cravings are even weirder, even though I know it’s just my body’s way of telling me that I, or the baby, need something that’s a key element in that particular food. Except when it’s not, and I just want a candy bar or pie all of a sudden. My body feels like it’s constantly moving and stretching. My muscles are sore right through here.” I look down to where her hands are gesturing—her hips and her pelvis. “My body is literally shifting to accommodate the baby, making room for where it needs to be. It’s going to be even more bizarre in a few months when the baby’s so big I can feel it pushing at my ribs.”

I can’t help but shudder. “That sounds horrible. The baby can actually do that?”

“That’s what I’ve heard—the baby can stretch out and wiggle its little toes right against my ribcage. We’ll probably even be able to see its elbows or feet when it pushes against me. Sometimes, they get hiccups.”

I look over at Erica and she grins back at me, still holding onto my fingers. “I think Mommy’s just messing with our heads with that one.”

“Just wait,” she assures me, rubbing her stomach gently with one hand, balancing Jack on her thigh with the other. “You’ll see my stomach jumping all of a sudden and you’ll know why.”

“How could our baby possibly get hiccups?”

“Same way we get them,” she tells me, shrugging. “Probably by swallowing funny. But according to my mom, I used to get the hiccups constantly while she was pregnant with me. It’s really common. But, I guess the weirdest part about all of this knowing that there’s actually a little person inside of me, someone who’s depending on _me_ to make all of its decisions, to make good choices, to give it the right amount of food and sleep, and to keep it safe for forty weeks. I mean, there’s this baby inside of me that can move and wave and sleep and suck its thumb and flip over and _hear things _and it’s just the freakiest, most amazing sensation in the world. I feel incredibly powerful and completely helpless at the same time. There’s so much going on right now just inside of me that I don’t think I can completely process it. Does that answer your question at all?”

“A little. I think…I think this is something I can’t possibly understand unless I’m actually pregnant.”

“Probably. I mean, I’m pregnant and I can’t even properly express what it’s like. All I can really tell you is that it’s like nothing else. It’s incredible and scary and the most wonderful thing I’ve ever gotten to do.”

I shift Erica onto the floor next to me, though she refuses to sit down, so I prop her up with a hand against her stomach, my other hand going to Monica’s belly. It really is weird to think about a little person living inside of her—I have a hard time _not_ picturing the chest-burster guy from _Alien_, which is a traumatizing mental image that I refuse to share with my wife. She has enough to worry about.

“Dada.” Both of our heads snap to Jack, who’s looking casually at his hands, his fingers plucking at Monica’s. I know he’s not actually saying it to me and I feel myself deflate just a fraction; still, though, it’s one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. It won’t be long at all before one or the both of them look at me and say it.

“So, when do you think you’ll be able to feel the baby move?”

A weird look passes over her face, almost like she’s concentrating. “See, here’s the thing—I think the baby might be moving _now_.”

I sit up a little straighter, excitement coursing through me. “Really? Where?”

She shakes her head. “It’s really light and kind of fluttery. I’ve been feeling it for a while, actually, but it didn’t occur to me that it could be the baby. I’ve been doing a lot of reading about this, and apparently it can be hard to recognize the baby’s movements at first because it feels like so many other things. Even now, I’m not sure that it’s not just my stomach doing funny things. It sounds like after you’ve done this once or twice, you can tell really early on when the baby’s moving, but when you’re a first-timer, it’s much harder to figure out.”

“So…you can’t tell if it’s the baby or gas?”

She purses her lips at me, looking less than amused. I look down at the twins and burst out laughing—they’re both making the exact same face as Monica. They’ve entered the stage where they try to copy everything they see, and the results have been pretty hilarious, even as I’m getting disapproving looks from all three of them.

Monica looks down at them, smiling at the looks on their faces. “I guess Daddy doesn’t want to get any ever again,” she says to them, and I move my hand from her stomach to her cheek, drawing her face to mine.

“Aw, honey. I’m just teasing you,” I say, kissing her.

“Like he…” She cuts herself off, looking down once again at the twins impressionable little faces. “Heck you are. You’re just backpedalling so you can reap the benefits of all the crazy hormones running through my body right now.” Despite her words, she lets me kiss her, and I’m pretty sure that once the twins go down for a nap, we’ll be getting naked.

“Buh!” Erica exclaims, successfully breaking up our little moment.

“I gotta tell you,” I sigh, leaning down to kiss Erica’s soft blonde hair, “that kids are the biggest…cuckold ever.”

“Can’t be too much of a challenge; you managed to get me pregnant.”

I waggle my eyebrows at her suggestively. “Superpowers, baby.”

She shakes her head and tries to shift into a more upright position, groaning a little in the process, one hand going to brace her back, and I reach a hand out, placing it on her back as well, trying to help. “But seriously…is it okay that you haven’t really felt the baby move?”

“I guess. I mean, we just went in for the five month checkup and we could see the baby moving on screen. We know it’s in there and that it’s active.”

“Is there anything we can do to make it move more?”

“The only thing I know of is to make a loud noise—apparently, that can startle it and I’d probably be able to feel it then.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m good with trying to scare our fetus unless we absolutely have to.”

“Thank you for that. I can also try drinking something really cold—that can also startle it.”

“Want some ice water?” I ask, prepared to stand up. I’ve been ready to feel the baby for months, and anything I can do to help that along, I will.

She grabs my arm, the weird look back on her face. “I think it knows we’re talking about it.”

“What do you mean?”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “I think that’s definitely kicking.”

“What makes you so sure now?”

“It feels almost rhythmic, and this time it feels like it’s going out rather than in, like it’s trying to get through my bellybutton instead of my back.”

I immediately put my hand to her stomach and she moves it into position, her hand covering mine as she presses it into her stomach. “Right there—can you feel that?”

I wait a few moments, hoping, finally shaking my head in disappointment. “No. Not a thing.”

She presses my hand into her stomach a little more firmly. “How about now?”

“Easy there.” I try to pull my hand back a little, worried about pressing too hard on the baby.

“You won’t hurt it,” she assures me.

“Well, I still can’t feel anything. Are you sure it’s kicking?”

She shakes her head, laughing a little. “No, but I’m going to tell myself that it’s the baby anyway. Maybe this one likes show tunes, too. It should start really moving around any day now. If it doesn’t, we’ll go back to the doctor and check.”

I feel a smack against my arm and look down at Erica. “Well, I certainly felt _that_ baby. What’s up, little butt?” She wrinkles her nose and whines. “That’s helpful.”

“Either we haven’t been paying enough attention to her, or it’s somebody’s lunchtime. Two somebodies, actually.” She lifts up Jack until he’s sitting on top of her bump. “Are you hungry, Jack?”

I look at her incredulously. “Is it okay to do that?”

“He’s a tiny little person—I think we’ll all survive. He’s not going to hurt the baby. Most of this stomach is just for show, you know. The baby is still pretty small and sitting much lower than Jack is right now.”

“As long as you’re sure.” I stand up, lifting Erica with me, and before I can reach out to help, Monica’s on her feet, lifting Jack carefully. She’s gotten pretty adept at doing all this stuff while carrying an extra burden.

When she stands, her belly is much more noticeable, even through her roomy chef’s jacket, and she’s no longer able to really hide or deny the fact. Five months seems to be the magic number for her because almost overnight, she started to look really pregnant. Even her stride has changed and everything about her now just screams “EXPECTING!”

I love it.

She must see something on my face because her eyes start to twinkle. “Keep it in your pants, buddy. They’ll be napping soon.”

My breath catches in my throat a little in anticipation. It’s amazing how much of a turn on my pregnant wife is.

Jack startles us both when he screeches out, “Eee!” and all thoughts of ravaging my wife are pushed to the back burner as we bring our children into the kitchen and place them in their high chairs, mealtime starting all over again.


	17. Chapter 17

Carefully, awkwardly, I pull open the door to Central Perk and maneuver the double stroller through the doorway. A moment too late, Rachel and Phoebe look up and see me struggling and jump up to help. Rachel grabs the bottom of the stroller, helping to steer it into the coffeehouse, Phoebe propping open the door to get me through. As soon as the twins are parked in front of the faded orange couch, Phoebe wraps her arms around me.

“Oh, my God, look how pregnant you are! You look so good!” She pulls back and grips my belly gently. “Hi, baby.”

“Let me in, let me in,” Rachel exclaims, hugging me around my stomach and Phoebe’s hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Considering I’m five and a half months pregnant and my babies are almost eleven months old, I’m doing all right.”

“No! They’re not that old, are they?” Rachel asks as she lets go of me, immediately turning to the stroller to peer down at the twins.

“They were born at the end of April and it’s now the middle of March…” my voice trails off, finding it hard to believe that my teeny, tiny little twins are actually almost a year old. My eyes well up just thinking about it. I swallow heavily and reach down to grab Jack, kissing his chubby cheeks. “Who wants one?” I ask, knowing both of my friends are eager to see their niece and nephew.

“Me!” Rachel exclaims, grabbing Jack from me and sitting on the couch.

I pick up Erica next, giving her kisses, too, before passing her off. “You’re up, Aunt Pheebs.”

“Ah, we meet again, Erica Bing,” Phoebe says to the baby, standing her up on her lap. I look at the couch for a moment, my body suddenly unable or unwilling to sit down. I grab the back of it and ease myself into a sitting position.

“Do you need help?” Rachel asks, playing with Jack’s fingers.

“Probably, but I have no idea what you could do,” I answer, finally landing on the couch with a sigh. “That was interesting.” I cross my arms over my stomach for a moment before groaning.

“What’s wrong?” Phoebe asks and I shake my head, mentally trying to brace myself to stand up.

“I forgot something to drink.”

Phoebe lets out a triumphant laugh and points to the coffee table in front of us. “Got you covered! We got a tea for you just before you showed up.”

I’m so relieved that I don’t have to stand up, I think I could cry. “You’re the best.” I briefly consider leaning forward to grab the mug, but decide it’s enough knowing it there for now.

“Where’s Emma?” I ask Rachel, who looks completely enamored with Jack at the moment, who, in all fairness, is doing a great job of looking at her through his eyelashes.

“She’s with Ross and Ben at some educational playland thing. I would have brought her, but Ben really wanted to go, so she wanted to go. I’m sure Ross is filling her head with all sorts of science and history facts and tidbits.”

“That would be just _horrible_,” Phoebe says, sarcasm tingeing her voice.

“Ihba,” Erica agrees, her fingers grabbing the end of her aunt’s hair for just a second before Phoebe reaches into the stroller and finds a toy, suitably distracting Erica.

“Oh, my God, Monica, Jack is so _cute_. I could just eat him up.”

“You know he’s flirting with you, right?”

Rachel’s mouth drops open, pretending to be appalled even as a smile tugs at her lips. “Jack, are you flirting with your Aunt Rachel?” He ducks his head, his shoulders scrunching up, a grin breaking out over his face. Rachel whimpers and pulls Jack against her chest, stroking his back. “Why can’t all guys be this cute?”

“You’re good at flirting, aren’t you, Jack?” I lean over and kiss his head, and he peaks an eye at me, still smiling. “I’m hoping to develop some sort of immunity to it at some point, otherwise I’m toast.”

“What about this one?” Phoebe asks, bouncing Erica on her knee. “Does she flirt, too?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s a little more subtle than Jack sometimes, though she’s really mastered the pout. _Especially_ when it comes to Daddy, right, Eri? She manipulates him better and faster than I could ever hope to, though, to be honest, she’s been able to do that since the moment she was born.” I jump a little as I feel the baby do what I swear is a pirouette against my bladder, though it’s probably just flipping from back to front.

“You okay?”

“I think someone woke up from his nap,” I answer, rubbing my stomach as I feel the baby stretch or kick inside of me. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve become more aware of it, or that the baby’s suddenly more active, or has gotten bigger, but the last couple of weeks, this kid has been really active. Unfortunately, Chandler still hasn’t been able to feel it, but I’m hoping soon.

“’His’?” Rachel asks, her eyes wide.

“I just get tired of calling the baby ‘it,’ so I pick a pronoun and go with it. Some days, the baby is a ‘she’.”

“So you’re not gonna find out?” Phoebe looks disappointed, and Erica sticks her lower lip out. “Oh, there’s the pout.”

I chuckle a little and shake my head. “We were surprised last time and that worked out pretty well. We figured we’d just wait and see with this one, too.”

I hear someone behind me mumble something about overpopulating the planet and whip my head around, my eyes catching some woman staring at me. Her eyes grow wide when she realize she’s been overheard and goes back to her friend, avoiding my gaze.

“What was that?” Rachel asks, her eyes wide.

I just shake my head. “Some people seem to think that having three kids is just too much strain on the planet; they also seem to think that their opinions matter to me.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“More often than you’d think.”

Phoebe cranes her neck to see this person, who looks like she’s trying to sink in on herself. “Hey, Chatty Cathy. Maybe you want to say that to her face?” The woman’s cheeks grow bright red and she starts gathering her belongings. “Or maybe you’d be interested to know that two of them are _adopted_. How’s that for ‘overpopulating’ the planet? Maybe you should mind your own business next time.”

I put my hand on her arm, trying to calm her. “Pheebs…”

The woman hurries out the door, her friend, looking mortified, close behind her. She turns and mouths “sorry” to me before trailing after her friend.

“I appreciate the solidarity, Pheebs—I really do—but maybe a little less information next time.” I glance around the shop; a few people are giving us odd looks, but for the most part, people are just going about their lives.

She looks at Erica, whose eyes are like saucers, and smiles reassuringly. “Some people should know what they’re talking about, right, Erica?”

“Do people really say that to you?”

“Sometimes,” I answer, shrugging. “Doesn’t really bother me, usually. The other day, I actually heard someone say, ‘She needs a hobby,’ when they saw that I have two babies and one on the way. It took everything in me not to tell her that I indeed have a hobby—sex. Lots and lots of sex, and _that’s_ why I have three kids.

“You should do that next time,” Phoebe encourages. “See what happens. I bet the reaction would be pretty good.”

We’re silent for a few minutes, the twins gurgling and babbling happily, oblivious to the world around them, and I wonder if I’ve somehow made my friends uncomfortable.

“So…do you guys still have sex a lot?”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead and look over at Rachel, who is trying to look very casual with Jack.

“You mean now that we’ve been married for almost four years or because I’m twenty-two weeks pregnant?”

“Both, actually.”

Okay—I guess I get to be uncomfortable. Though, actually, talking about Chandler’s prowess in bed is usually a great source of joy for me. “We have sex all the time.”

“Really? All the time?” Phoebe sounds like she doesn’t believe me, though I don’t know that she’s ever been able to completely buy into my husband being good in bed.

“A few times a week, easily, except for when the twins were born and when we first found out I was pregnant. But yeah. Even more now with all these pregnancy hormones rampaging through my system. I get action from him pretty much every night.”

“I didn’t have sex the entire time I was pregnant,” Rachel blurts out.

“I didn’t either,” Phoebe adds in, though we all know she had different circumstances than most. “I wanted to, though. Every man I saw turned me on. I thought I was going to explode. What’s it like to have a man at your beck and call like that?”

“Pretty phenomenal, actually. Makes my life a lot easier.”

“Hey, what’s pregnant sex like?” Rachel asks and I feel my body simultaneously relax and rev up at the thought of it.

“Magnificent. I’m sure in another couple of months it’ll be awkward and almost impossible, but for right now, it might be the best sex we’ve ever had. He’s just so…attentive and giving and willing and romantic.” I shudder for a moment, picturing my husband, the thought of it a little too much. “I can’t talk about it right now.” My body literally feels like it’s electrified just _thinking_ about Chandler and what he does to me, what he _will_ do to me later tonight.

“Do you ever worry that the birth mother will want them back?”

My head shoots up and I can see Rachel’s mouth drop open, the question hitting me like a bucket of ice water.

“Phoebe!” Rachel exclaims. “Why would you ask that?” Jack squawks in her arms, alarmed by her voice and I immediately reach out and grab his little hand, his tiny fingers holding on to me.

“Every day,” I whisper. “Not a single day goes by that Chandler and I don’t think about it, scared out of our minds that Erica will decide that she wants to be their mother.” That has been our only concern with adoption—the fear that someone will regret giving up their child and want it back. We knew it was a huge gamble, especially with an open adoption, but we thought it was worth the risk. It still is, and I’d adopt Jack and Erica all over again if I had to, but the knowledge that their mother could decide she wants them back and possibly _win_ that case in court scares the hell out of me.

“Logically,” I continue, clearing my throat, “I know it probably won’t happen. We send her letters but she hasn’t been very communicative with us since the twins were born. I mean, she’s very young and probably not at all interested in being a parent. We just have to keep our fingers crossed and hope we never have to cross that bridge.”

I feel Phoebe’s hand on my shoulder, rubbing gently. “I’m sorry I asked—it was stupid.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s a logical question. But…it’s just…they’re _ours_, you know? They’ve felt like ours since the moment they were born. I can’t imagine them belonging to anyone else.”

“Erica is so much like Chandler sometimes it’s scary,” Phoebe confirms, turning my daughter to face me and I laugh at the expression on her face; definitely Chandler.

“Erica.” She smiles up at me. “Kiss?” I pucker my lips at her and she does her best to imitate my face, her lips closing and mostly forming a pucker. I lean toward her and her little body almost launches out of Phoebe’s arms as I give her a quick kiss.

“That looks like it’s come a long way,” Rachel says. “Less drool now.”

“They’re much better at imitating now, so they’ve almost got it down. They don’t seem to get the actual kiss part yet, but it’s coming along. At least their mouths aren’t hanging open all the time.” I turn and look at my son. “Hey, Jack.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye before he ducks his face, smiling. “Jaaaack.” I lean my head on Rachel’s shoulder, making eye contact with him, his face lighting up. “Kiss?” We go through the same routine, and my heart feels like it could melt. I know they don’t understand yet what they’re doing, they’re just imitating me and Chandler when we do things like this, but it’s still amazing. They learn so many things so quickly, though I really can’t help but wonder if being twins is helping with that. If one does something, the other is never far behind; it feels like they’re always competing to see who can do things first or best.

Chandler likes to say they get it from me, and if I didn’t know any better, I would agree.

A moment later, Phoebe and Rachel are asking for kisses, though with a bit less success than me. It’s a little reassuring to know that the twins exercise a bit of caution from time to time.

“Hey, Mon—can I ask you another possibly too-personal question?”

“Of course, Pheebs.”

“Are you going to tell them they’re adopted?”

“I don’t think we’ll have much choice, do you? They look nothing like either of us.” Erica’s practically the spitting image of her birth mother—pale blonde hair, big, dark eyes—and Jack isn’t much different. His hair is very light brown, but his eyes are just as dark as his sister’s. They look nothing at all like anything Chandler and I could have produced. “We haven’t really worked out how, but we have a few years before it’s an issue. And who knows? Maybe this baby won’t look anything like us, either, so they’ll all have that in common. We’re hoping that it won’t matter, though, and they won’t get upset and confused.”

“Will you let them meet the other Erica if they want?” Rachel asks, pulling Jack closer to her chest.

“Yep. Part of me is hoping they won’t want to, but if that’s what they want and she’s willing, we’ll let it happen. And if they don’t ever want to meet her, we certainly won’t force them.”

“Have you guys talked about this stuff already?”

“This and so many other things. We really didn’t go into adoption lightly; we knew that all of these things would be a possibility, but none of it outweighed the good. I don’t regret it for a second, even _with_ the constant worry. Maybe one day we’ll wake up without that fear hanging over us.” I sigh and look at Erica’s little smiling face. “But for now, we’re just focusing on the simple things, mostly trying to get them to call Chandler ‘Dada’ and me ‘Mama.’”

“Mama.” Phoebe and Rachel jump at Erica’s little voice, and I can’t help that my eyes water a bit, even though I know she’s not really saying it.

“Oh, my God!” Rachel exclaims, causing Jack to squeak in protest. “She just called you ‘Mama!’”

“Not really. Give her a minute; she’ll call you that, too. She’s just repeating words right now.” Regardless, I look at her and smile, pointing to my chest. “That’s right, sweetie. I’m ‘Mama.’”

She looks over at the diaper bag hanging off the stroller and points. “Mama.”

“No, honey, _bottle_.” I pick it up and show it her, her little fingers grabbing for it even though it’s empty. “Bottle.”

“Bahbah?”

“So close. Bottle,” I say one more time, but she’s already ignoring me, playing with her newfound toy.

“Muh.”

I look over at Jack, who’s standing on Rachel’s legs, his hand outstretched, fingers spread. “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, baby, but it sounds good.”

He wiggles up and down, his face scrunching up a little. “Muh!”

“You want Mama?” I hold my hands out for him and his little body pulls against Rachel’s grasp, taking him into my arms and he settles in on top of my stomach.

Rachel stares at me in wonder. “Mon, you’re such a natural at this. When I first had Emma, I had no idea what to do about anything. I didn’t know what her cries meant, I didn’t know when to feed her _unless_ she was crying…it was so scary. Hell, I have no idea what to do _now_ half the time and Emma can form sentences. But you…from the first moment you brought these two home you’ve looked completely natural. Even when Emma was first born, you were so at ease with her. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I’m still learning stuff, too, Rache. There’s a lot that I don’t know, too.”

“Maybe, but still…I don’t know of anyone who was meant to be a mother more than you.”

“Totally,” Phoebe agrees, nodding her head. “When I have my baby, if I have any questions—“

My eyes grow wide as Rachel and I sit up straight. “I’m sorry—when you what?”

“Oh, I’m pregnant. Didn’t I mention that?” She says it very casually, as if it’s no big deal.

Rachel’s hands clasp over her mouth. “You’re pregnant?”

The smile nearly splits Phoebe’s face in half. “Yeah, about two months.”

“Oh, my God, Phoebe!” I exclaim. “We’re pregnant at the same time? That’s so cool!”

“I know!” We wrap our arms around each other as best we can around the twins, and Rachel’s arms slide around us.

“This is so great. I’m so happy for you,” Rachel says, sniffling. “Does Mike know?”

“Why would I tell him before I tell the father?”

Rachel’s eyes grow wide, her mouth dropping open. “Oh, uh…I guess…”

I look over at Phoebe and roll my eyes. “She’s screwing with you, Rache.”

She lets out a relieved laugh before trying to regain her composure. “I know.” She makes a face and looks away.

“Of course Mike knows. He knows that I was planning to tell you guys today, too. I know you’re supposed to wait until after the third month but I’m just so excited!” She flings her arm around us again, Erica making a noise of protest as she’s squished but otherwise remaining silent.

“Can I tell Chandler? I mean, I’m going to tell him anyway, but is it okay with you?”

She laughs a little, giving us a squeeze. “Sure.”

“Actually, he’ll be here soon, so you can tell him. He’ll be so happy for you guys.”

Rachel shakes her head as we finally break apart. “Chandler Bing, happy about babies. Who knew?”

“I like to think I’ve had a positive influence on him the last few years,” I say a little smugly, stroking Jack’s head as he chews on his fist.

“Speak of the devil,” Phoebe says, gesturing toward the door with her head.

I look up and see Chandler walking through the door; my heart speeds up at the sight of him and a smile breaks out across my face—all these years and seeing him still makes me ridiculously happy. “Look, Jack—it’s Daddy!” I pick him up and turn him to face the door, and his little face lights up. I hand him to Rachel and heave myself into a standing position. He grins and we reach for each other, his hands sliding gently across my belly before he pulls me close, kissing me hello.

“Guess what?” I say, when we come up for air.

“What?”

Before I can say anything, I feel the baby kick against my stomach and jump.

“What was that?” he asks, looking down at me.

“You felt that? That was the baby.”

A look of wonder spreads over his face, his hands going back to my stomach. “The baby kicked?”

“I guess he’s happy to see you.” The baby kicks again, harder this time, and Chandler’s eyes widen. He looks over and grins at Phoebe and Rachel, Erica’s arms stretching toward him. He takes her from Phoebe as Rachel stands, giving my husband a hug and he kisses Jack’s head.

“Is that the first time the baby’s kicked?” Phoebe asks, her hand reaching out to my stomach.

“First time I’ve been able to feel it,” Chandler answers.

Simultaneously, Phoebe and Rachel say, “Awwwwww.” The baby kicks a few more times against Chandler’s hand before calming down.

He takes Jack from Rachel and sits down on the edge of the couch, a baby in each arm. “So, you had some news.”

I slide my arm around his shoulders, leaning into him. “Well, actually…” I raise my eyebrows at Phoebe, who looks startled for a moment before remembering herself.

“Oh, yeah. Just that Jack, Erica, and the baby will have a new cousin to play with in a few months.”

Chandler looks around at the three of us, waiting for an explanation. “A new cousin?”

“Actually, it’ll be in about seven months.” He looks at the three of us again, confused until understanding dawn across his face a moment later.

“Oh, my God!” He looks over at Phoebe, who’s grinning at him. “Oh, my God! You’re having a baby? That’s wonderful!” He goes to hug her, stopping when he realizes his arms are full of babies.

“That’s okay, I’ll come to you.” She stands and wraps her arms around him for a few moments.

“Congratulations, Pheebs. I’m really happy for you.” She sits back on the couch, grinning wildly. “This is so great! All of our kids will be close to the same age; they can learn to talk together, and play together, and have sleepovers together, and maybe one day, when they’re old enough, they can all sit around together at a coffeehouse and waste too much time together.”

We all laugh, and Phoebe says, “If we’re lucky.”

I lean over and kiss Chandler’s head, feeling the baby shift in me a bit in the process. I don’t say anything, mostly because I know it would sound incredibly cheesy, but we really are lucky.


	18. Chapter 18

“I can’t believe Phoebe’s pregnant!” Monica exclaims suddenly, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye for just a moment—she’s grinning from ear to ear. I smile as I turn my eyes back to the road in front of me. Amazingly, we’ve managed to make it most of the way home before she brought it up.

“It’s pretty incredible. Our baby and her baby will practically be twins.”

“Built-in best friends,” she says, her hands resting on her stomach.

“Maybe,” I answer. “Let’s hope they all like each other.”

“They won’t have a choice. They’re going to grow up together; they’re going to see each other every day. It’s going to be great.”

“How are they going to see each other every day? Are they going to hitchhike? Take the bus?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. What I mean is that Phoebe mentioned a while back that she liked the idea of living in a house in the suburbs. Maybe we could talk her into moving out here. We could be neighbors!”

I shake my head and chuckle a little. “Is it your plan to get all of our friends to move out here?”

She shrugs, tracing little designs on her belly. “Would that be the worst thing?”

I reach over for a moment and squeeze her hand. “No, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. And if anyone can make it happen, it’d be you.”

She squeezes my hand in return before I put it back on the wheel. “I just miss them a lot sometimes, and I wish I could see more of them, you know?”

“I know.”

We’re quiet for a few moments before I see her perk up out of the corner of my eye. “You got to feel the baby kick.”

The grin that spreads across my face actually hurts. “That was amazing. When do you think it’ll kick again?”

She snorts a little. “I don’t know—the baby hasn’t sent me today’s schedule.”

“You’re funny.”

“I really don’t know, honey. So far, I’ve been finding he’s most active when I’ve been still for a while. All the walking around at work seems to be soothing, but when I get a chance to relax…I’m a punching bag. Actually, it’s not that bad, yet, but there’s definite activity. The baby gets really excited when I see you, though.”

I bite my lip, feeling my eyes tear up just a bit. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m excited, so the baby’s excited. It’s really that simple.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s one of the sweetest, most amazing things I’ve ever heard. I clear my throat and glance in the rearview mirror at the car seats behind us, the mirrors attached to those reflecting the little faces of Jack and Erica. Erica’s busy trying to grab at one of the toys dangling off her seat, an intense look of concentration on her face; Jack’s blinking sleepily, the rumbling of the vehicle lulling him to sleep.

“Uh-oh; we’ve got a sleepy baby on our hands.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“So close to home, too.” She reaches an arm back, tickling his side. “C’mon, sweetie. We’re almost there. You can have dinner soon. Food! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Uh-oh.”

I feel my eyes grow wide, Monica staring at me in shock. “Was that Erica?” she asks, her voice hopeful.

I glance in the mirror again; she’s still focused on her toys. “Erica, did you say ‘uh-oh’?”

This time, I see her little lips move. “Uh-oh.”

Monica’s hands clasp over her mouth, and I can see her eyes glistening in the light from oncoming traffic. “I know she’s just repeating sounds, but her little voice is one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard.”

“Erica, say ‘uh-oh’.”

“Uh-oh.”

Monica squeals a little, startling Jack awake, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Jack,” I say, making eye contact with him for a moment in the mirrors. “Say ‘uh-oh’.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Was that Jack?” Monica asks excitedly.

“No, that was our little ham again.”

“Oh, Erica, you’re such a smart girl!” The baby just smiles happily, smacking her fists against the side of her car seat, her mother’s voice exciting her. “Jack, say ‘uh-oh’.”

We’re greeted by silence. I look at him again and see his lip poking out, his face crumpling. “Uh-oh—we’re about to have a meltdown.”

“Uh-oh,” Erica answers just as Jack starts to wail.

If there are two things in this world that we know with absolute certainty that our son loves, it’s food and sleep, and we’ve managed to deprive him of both in one fell swoop.

Monica reaches back, her hand rubbing his belly. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. We’re almost home. You can make it.” She looks at me and cringes; this sort of crying makes us feel completely helpless, and it’s completely heartbreaking. It takes everything in me not to speed home, especially when I know we’re so close.

I steal a glance at Erica, who doesn’t look concerned in the slightest with her brother’s plight. Jack’s wails are starting to reach the level of ear-bleed. “I think this is his ‘I need Mommy’ cry. Thoughts, Mama?”

“I think you should try to handle this.” She winces at Jack’s cries, turning around further in her seat, trying to console our distraught son. “Jack, Jack, Jack. It’s okay. We’re almost home. Mama’s sorry she scared you.” I see her make a face at me. “This sounds like a job for Daddy, right?”

My eyebrows raise and I glance at Monica out of the corner of my eye. “Really?”

She reaches back to Jack once more, trying to calm him down. “Yeah, I know.”

Mercifully, our street appears, our driveway just moments behind it. As quickly as possible, I park the car, and Monica hurries out, moving very quickly for a woman as pregnant as she is. She grabs Erica’s car seat from the back of the car and I pull out Jack, who’s still screaming bloody murder. We meet at the trunk; I lift Jack and immediately pass him to his mother, who hands Erica’s carrier to me at the same time.

Jack’s head immediately falls to Monica’s shoulder, his tiny body curling around her stomach. “I know,” she whispers, gently bouncing him back and forth. “I know. We’ll go inside and eat and go to sleep and everything will be better.” She kisses the back of his head as we try to gather our belongings, and gives me a look. “Does he feel a little warm to you?”

I drop the diaper bag to the ground and put my hand on his back, pressing my lips to his forehead. “Maybe a little. What do you think it is?”

“Teething?” she suggests, shrugging as I pick up the diaper bag once more and we head to our front door. “He was fine while we were at Central Perk, so I don’t know what else it could be. It’s okay, sweetie pie. Mommy’s got you. We’ll put you in your jammies and get something to eat and it’ll be okay.”

I unlock the door and usher Monica in, shaking my head. If poor Jack is teething again, that means another sleepless night for Monica. Me, too, to a degree, but not in the same way. Maybe, if we’re lucky, he’s just tired and cranky and all he needs is to go to bed soon. I mean, it’s definitely later than they usually eat, and it’s surprising that our drama queen hasn’t raised hell yet, too.

“I’m gonna take his temperature,” Monica tells me as she heads upstairs. “Just in case. We’ll be down soon.”

Fortunately, Jack’s crying has subsided a bit, but it’s still heartbreaking to hear. “I’m going to start Erica’s dinner,” I call after her, receiving a thumbs up in response.

“All right, little butt,” I say to Erica, finally pulling her out of her car seat. “What do you say to some food?” She looks at me with wide eyes for a moment, her hand reaching out to grab my nose. “I’ll take that a yes.” I bring her into the kitchen and put her in her high chair, shaking out a few Cheerios onto her tray to keep her occupied.

“Buh?” she asks, hitting her hand on the tray.

“Cereal,” I tell her, putting her formula in a sippy cup.

“Buh!”

“Cereal.”

She picks up a piece and flings it to the floor. “BUH!”

Oh, good; I was hoping for a tantrum. “Erica…”

Her eyes go wide and she stares at me, looking innocent. “Uh-oh.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing; the last thing she needs is the encouragement. “That’s right uh-oh. We don’t throw food.” It’s incredibly fascinating that she’s managed to pick up on the correct usage of “uh-oh” so quickly. That, or because it got such a huge reaction from me and her mother earlier, she’s hoping it’ll be just as charming now.

I reach down and pick up the Cheerio, wiping it on my jeans before holding it out to her. “We eat food. We don’t throw it.”

She angles her neck toward me, opening her mouth and I sigh. She knows perfectly well how to pick up food and mostly get it in her mouth, but she really doesn’t like it when Daddy is strict with her. In a heartbeat, she becomes completely helpless, and without fail, I give in to her.

I’m such a sap.

I stick the cereal in her mouth and she chews happily, grinning at me. Manipulative little monster. If only she weren’t so damn cute, I might have a chance.

“Just…take your cup.” I put the cup in front of her and she grabs on, suddenly self-sufficient. With another sigh, I stand up and gather things for their dinner, sitting back down to cut up a banana for the two of them. For the moment, she’s lost interest in me as she delicately stuffs Cheerios in her mouth. We have a couple of interesting little babies; their personalities are endlessly fascinating and so wildly different. And now, they’re much more like tiny little people than they ever have been.

Erica aims a Cheerio at her mouth and it glances off her cheek, falling somewhere down her highchair.

Tiny drunk people, I mentally correct myself.

She picks up another Cheerio and holds her hand out to me. “Duh?”

“Is that for Dada? How sweet.” I lean forward and gobble at her hand, her giggles filling the kitchen. I have no idea where the piece of cereal winds up. I kiss her forehead before going back to the banana. She may be manipulative, but in all honesty, I love it. I love it and I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.

I hear Jack sniffling just a moment before Monica walks into the room with an armful of cranky baby. “What’s the prognosis?” I ask, standing up for a moment to kiss first Jack’s head, then Monica’s lips.

“He’s fine,” she assures me, putting him into his high chair. “No fever. I think he just got himself too worked up. But you’re okay, aren’t you, Jack Attack?”

He looks at his tray glumly and my heart goes out to him. He’s so rarely grouchy that it’s hard not to feel bad for him when he’s like this. “You hungry, buddy?” I drop some banana on his tray and his fingers immediately reach out, grabbing a piece and shoving it in his mouth. “I guess that an affirmative.”

Monica runs her hand through my hair before getting his sippy cup ready. “We still have some of that spiral pasta in the fridge?”

“Should,” I answer, trying to make sure Jack doesn’t stuff too much in his mouth at one time. It turns out that kids this age will eat pretty much anything if it’s something they can grab with their little fingers, plain pasta included. A moment later, she pulls out a chair next to me, opening the container and dropping a few pieces of pasta on each of their trays. “What should we do about dinner?”

She makes a face, contemplating our digestive future; I can tell just by the way she’s slumped against the chair that she’s in no mood to cook tonight. “Pizza?” she finally asks, her face lighting up.

“Works for me,” I answer, and even if it didn’t, if it makes my pregnant wife happy, I just roll with it. She’s got the hard part in this whole child-bearing process; I can certainly deal with the foods she wants to eat. “I’ll call after the royal couple has finished eating.”

She shrugs, turning into a stretch, and slides her legs across my lap, wiggling her toes. I slide my hand gently up and down her calf for a few minutes, feeling her relax even under the gentlest of ministrations.

“So what’d I miss today?”

“Not a lot. Erica did say ‘Mama,’ which really freaked out Phoebe and Rachel.”

My eyes grow wide as I smile. “She called you Mama?”

“I’m pretty sure if she’d actually called me that, I’ve be a bit more excited. No; she said it to me, then she said it to her bottle. It’s nice to know the two of us are on the same level, you know?” She reaches out and smoothes down Erica’s hair. “You’re just a little tease, aren’t you? Getting your aunts all excited like that, making them think you like to call your mommy by her name.”

Erica bangs her cup on her tray, screeching. Jack makes a face, a couple of big tears squeezing out of his eyes. Poor little guy. I reach out and swipe a thumb across his cheeks, giving his quivering lower lip a tap in the process. “It’s okay, little dude. It’s okay.” The look he gives me very clearly expresses his doubt, but he picks up a piece of banana anyway, stuffing it in his mouth.

Erica’s sippy cup goes flying all of a sudden, hitting the floor with a crash as she starts to bang on her tray, yelling, “Dohdohdohdohbah!”

“Erica,” Monica says, her voice somehow firm but gentle. “Don’t yell.”

“BeebeebeeBEEBEEBEE!”

“Erica,” Monica says again, her voice a little less gentle this time, but calmly grabs the baby’s hands to get her to stop banging. “No.”

It’s like a battle of wills with these two sometimes; I swear I can see Erica calculating the risks right now, trying to decide if fighting her mother is a good idea. A moment later, her mouth opens and she lets out an ear-piercing scream. Jack’s eyes grow wide and in an instant, Monica’s sitting upright, grabbing Erica’s highchair and pulling it directly in front of her face. “Erica. Josephine. Bing. NO.”

She got three-named. In the almost eleven months they’ve been alive, she’s only had to “Jack Hemingway Bing” our son once. It’s practically a weekly occurrence for Erica, though.

And Monica—I don’t know how she does it. She doesn’t yell; instead her voice gets almost deathly quiet, but it seems to be much more effective than losing her temper. Not that Monica’s one to fly off the handle, in all honesty, but she certainly has that “Mom” look down pat.

Erica’s chin quivers, her eyes filling with what are probably crocodile tears. “Uh-oh,” she says softly, holding out her arms to be picked up. Monica sits back and bites her lip, fighting against the urge to comfort our daughter. Any time something like this happens, she tries to give it at least a minute before handing out hugs and kisses, mostly so they won’t think that it was their idea.

“Don’t you ‘uh-oh’ me, young lady. You know you’re not supposed to do that.”

“Boh?” Erica asks quietly, the tears in her eyes already drying, her little hand reaching for pasta; Jack has already lost interest in the fight between his mother and sister and is determinedly attacking his sippy cup. I stand quietly and retrieve Erica’s cup, placing it on her tray.

“Erica and I have are going to have so much fun when she’s a teenager,” Monica says suddenly, her hands rubbing her stomach.

“I think it’s going to be an early night for both of them,” I answer, reaching out a hand to rub her shoulders.

“Erica,” Monica says, our daughter turning her gaze to her mother. “I love you.” She grins, banana falling off her lip. “And then she does that, and I feel like the world’s biggest jerk for yelling at her.”

“There was no yelling. Discipline, yes, but no yelling. They have to learn boundaries, Mon.”

“I know, but—” She gasps suddenly, bending over as one hand grips her stomach. “Son of a bi….”

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” I jump up, trying to find my phone. “Want me to call the doctor? Or—or—or an ambulance—”

“No, I’m fine,” she answers in a moan.

“That doesn’t look fine!” My voice comes out in a higher octave than I’ve ever heard.

“That was a just…I don’t know what that was. Either a kick or a punch or something inside of me was used a trampoline all of a sudden.” She sits up slowly, rubbing the side of her stomach. “Wow that was painful.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” My heart feels like it’s jackhammering out of my chest.

“Yeah. I think I was more surprised than anything else. Uncalled for,” she adds, looking down at her belly.

Cautiously, I reach out and stroke her stomach. “Take it easy on your mom, all right? We kind of need her.” I feel a tiny little thump against my hand and can’t control the grin that breaks out across my face.

“Someone’s happy to see Daddy,” Monica informs me, putting her hand on mine.

“That’s the weirdest thing in the world,” I say softly, completely amazed. Being able to feel the baby kick has just made this whole thing that much more real.

“You’re telling me? I have a tiny person beating me up from the inside. My internal organs are going to have bruises.”

“Worth it?” I ask her, looking up for a moment to see her grinning at me.

“Completely.”

I look over at our twins; Jack’s head is slumped, his shoulders moving as he breathes deeply. Erica is quietly crushing what’s left of her food, content in her destructive abilities. “All right—time for bed.” I lift Jack out of his chair as he snoozes on, oblivious to the world around him. Erica’s arms go up again and this time Monica picks her up, squeezing her close for a minute.

“I love you, little girl,” she whispers against Erica’s head, and Erica buries her face in Monica’s neck, her tiny hand grabbing her mother’s hair gently, a surefire sign that she’s more tired than she’s letting on.

Slowly, we bring them up to their nursery, the soft glow of the nightlight guiding us.

“Tell you what,” I tell Monica, checking Jack’s diaper before laying him in his crib. “I’ll do this part—I’ll make sure everyone is changed and wiped down and read to them a little, and _you_ go get changed, get comfy, and order the pizza. I’ll be downstairs soon.”

She grabs my arm, pulling me to her. “I have the best husband in the world,” she whispers, and I lean down to kiss her.

“Eh, I’m all right.” I take Erica from her arms and gently wipe her face before bringing her to the changing table. Monica leans over Jack’s crib, stroking his cheek.

“Night night, sweetie. I love you.” She comes over and leans over Erica, who’s blinking up at us sleepily, kissing her forehead. “’Night, sweet girl. I love you, too.”

I save her the trouble and capture her lips in mine once more. “Yeah, I guess you’re all right, too.”

I nudge her with my knee, my hands occupied with changing my daughter’s diaper. “Love you, too, honey.”

“See you downstairs.” She gives me an affectionate pat on my ass before shuffling away. I go about getting Erica ready for bed, pulling her pajamas carefully over her head before I pull her against my shoulder, bringing her with me over to the bookcase.

“How about Dr. Seuss? Can’t go wrong with that guy, right?” She snuffles against my neck, so I assume she’s good with it. I pull a rocking chair over next to Jack’s crib so he can hear, too. I know they’re both asleep, or at least most of the way there, but reading to them is good for them. It’s good for me, too, because it turns out that I really like spending that time with them.

I cradle Erica in my arm and prop the book up on my knee. “Oh, The Places You’ll Go,” I say to them, reading the title. “Oh, the places indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my little world, Joey never moved to LA (I never watched “Joey,” either), so he’s still part of their lives. Also, I’ve decided the twins’ birthday is April 25 for several reasons. 1—every important event on this show happened in May, so this way, it’s a little different. 2—it’s a less than subtle nod to Chandler’s favorite movie, “Miss Congeniality.”


	19. Chapter 19

I’ve been a wreck all weekend. Chandler’s been very patient with me, but I can’t seem to get myself under control.

Today we celebrated the twins’ first birthday. Technically, their birthday isn’t until tomorrow, but everyone came over for their party today. Miraculously, I managed to pull myself together for most of the day, only hiding in the bathroom three or four times.

Being a hormonal pregnant woman definitely came in handy today.

We had a pretty impressive turnout for the party of a couple of one-year-olds. Aside from Joey, Phoebe and Mike, Ross and Rachel and Ben and Emma, Carol and Susan showed up, as well as my parents, and Chandler’s parents, some people from work, and a few neighbors. We even invited Erica, thinking it might be something she’d want to be part of, but it seems that, at the moment, the actual open part of the adoption isn’t something she’s interested in.

We tried to get everyone to take it easy on the gifts, but, naturally, they went overboard. Sometimes, I feel like we need a bigger house just to hold all of the twins’ stuff.

But it’s still incredibly difficult to believe that my little babies are now a year old. Just one year ago today their biological mother was going into labor, we still lived in our apartment…things were so different.

This has been the fastest year ever.

And my babies aren’t really babies anymore.

My heart constricts and I feel a fresh wave of tears burst out of me. Chandler looks up at me sympathetically from his position on the floor, playing with Jack and Erica.

Poor, poor Chandler. He has no idea how to deal with me this way. Hell, _I_ have no idea how to deal with me this way. All I do know is that I’m not ready for my babies to be a year old.

I wish I could freeze time and keep them like this forever. They’re so perfect; they’re right on the cusp of _everything_ right now. They’re still so small, but they’re so much more independent now than even a week ago. Despite all of their new-found independence, they still need me.

I think that’s the part that scares me the most—that they won’t need me. I cannot deal with the thought of Jack and Erica being able to handle life on their own.

Chandler keeps trying to remind me that it’ll be many years before they’re actually capable of that, and that they’ll need the two of us for quite some time.

Like a seven-months-pregnant woman will listen to that kind of logic.

I watch Erica crawl over to the cuddle chair and slowly pull herself into a standing position. Very cautiously, she toddles across the floor to her toys in the corner, and I feel my heart swell and break at the same time. Pulling herself up is something she’s done for a couple of months; even walking while having one of us brace her has been happening for some time. But it’s only been within the last week or so that she’s managed to take steps on her own, almost becoming an expert in the process. Sometimes she stumbles and plops down on her tiny little butt, but she just crawls over to another piece of furniture, pulls herself up, and tries again.

It’s completely amazing to watch.

She doesn’t really stand independently much, at least not when she’s thinking about it. But even right now, she’s squatting down to pick up a toy, standing right back up like it’s no trouble

Jack, on the other hand, has no interest in the moment at walking. He can pull himself up if he’s so inclined. He’ll even walk a little while holding onto the couch, but at the moment, he prefers crawling. It gets him places faster than Erica, which is only encouraging her to learn how to run.

Though, given that he behaved the exact same way just before he decided to crawl, I truly wouldn’t be surprised to find him casually strolling through the house soon, looking like a tiny adult.

Chandler picks up Jack, making him dance in midair over to me, hiding his face and “talking” for him. “Don’t be sad, Mommy. I’m still a little baby. I’m so teeny! I need you to take care of me.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and laugh, and Chandler places Jack on top of my stomach. I have very little lap now, so if I want to hold one of the twins while sitting down, they have to ride the bump. I pull my son against me, hugging him gently, and he chews on the collar of my shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Chandler, trying my best to keep myself composed. “I didn’t know this was going to be so hard. It really feels like we just brought them home, you know? They were so small and helpless, and now look at them.”

Chandler sits back on his heels, his hand reaching out to stroke my knee. “I know. But look at how amazing they are now, honey. Couldn’t you just sit back and watch them forever?”

I pull Jack away from me a bit and he grins, his tiny teeth all perfect and shiny—well, at least the teeth he has so far. A year ago, he didn’t know how to smile; this part is a definite improvement. I don’t know that I would trade these smiles for anything.

“You’re my guy, Jack,” I say to him, tickling his sides gently and his eyes light up as he giggles. He kicks out his legs, bouncing up and down on my stomach. I feel an answering series of kicks inside my stomach and Jack stops moving and looks around, trying to figure out where the feeling came from. “That was your little brother or sister, sweetie. You’re playing bouncy-house on its home.”

“Did the baby kick Jack?” Chandler asks, chuckling, watching Erica sift through her toys, trying to find the “right” one.

“The baby was not at all pleased with her big brother using her cocoon as a toy.” I take Jack’s hand and place it on my belly over where I’m being elbowed. “See, Jack? It’s a baby.”

“Bahguh?” he asks me, his fingers spread out on my stomach. 

“Baby,” I correct him.

“Bee,” he answers, looking very proud of himself.

“So close, buddy. So close. _Baby_.”

He bounces on me again, this time scrunching up his face and blowing a raspberry at me. I pull him to me and start showering his face with kisses, his peals of laughter filling the room.

I look up in time to see Erica barrel at her father, moving faster on two feet than I’ve seen yet. My eyes grow wide as she loses balance and crashes into his back. I brace myself for her outrage, but it never comes. Chandler looks over his shoulder to see her sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out, giggling madly.

“You’re a strange little bug, Erica Bing,” he says to her, reaching out to tickle her foot. “So, so strange.”

“And where do you think she gets it from?”

Chandler raises and eyebrow at me and grins, proud to be passing his odd behaviors off on his children.

“If I had known being a parent was this fantastic,” he says, laughing as Erica flops to the ground on her back, her legs falling back so she can inspect her feet, “I wouldn’t have fought it as hard as I did. We would have gotten married right after college and started in on babies and adopting and whatever it took to get to this place.”

“You don’t mean that,” I tell him, rolling my eyes and tickling Jack’s bellybutton.

“I sure do. This is the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, and my only regret is that I didn’t start sooner.”

“Do you really think we would have been good parents right after college?”

“_You_ would have been, and you would’ve helped me figure it out.”

“The only downside to this little fantasy of yours is that, if we’d somehow miraculously managed to fall in love and get married that young, we wouldn’t have Jack and Erica, and nothing in the world is worth that. I mean, with our mingled DNA, there’s a good possibility that the baby we’re having now would be very similar to one we could have had years ago, but without the twins…” I shudder a little, truly hating the thought of world that doesn’t include them.

“Fair point. They are pretty much the best kids anyone could ask for. Not that I’m biased, or anything.” He looks down at Erica adoringly, and I’m sure I have the same look on my face as I watch Jack.

_Definitely_ not biased.

Chandler flops down onto his back, grabbing Erica in the process and lifting her over his head; she shrieks with laughter, reaching for him as he brings her close to his chest, her arms spreading out as he lifts her back into the air.

I turn Jack around, still balancing him on my stomach, so he can see what’s going on. “What are Daddy and Eri doing, Jack? They look pretty silly to me.” He smacks his hand against my arm, pointing at them with the other.

“Gobah!”

I pause for a moment, trying to figure out what that’s supposed to mean, drawing a blank. “I have no idea what you said, dude. Sounded good, though.”

“Ooooooobah!” he exclaims, and I look over his head to Chandler and Erica.

“I think their birthday cake is kicking in.”

“It’s doing a number on me, too,” he tells me, laughing with our daughter. He sits up and Erica kicks her feet in midair a few times before spitting up all over herself. “Aww, Eri. Too much?”

Fortunately, she doesn’t seem the least bit disturbed and continues to kick, gyrating her entire little body.

I look around for a burp rag but Chandler improvises, pulling off her outfit and using the clean spots to wipe her face. “Naked baby!” he exclaims, setting her down on her feet. She bounces up and down a little, looking genuinely excited about life and nakedness, even though she’s still wearing a diaper.

“Jack,” I say, and he tilts his head back a little, looking at me. “See what you can do when you learn to walk? You can be just as silly as Erica.” He blows a raspberry at me, spitting all over my neck. “Charming. You ever get the feeling that our son thinks we’re all a bunch of morons, but he keeps us around anyway because we wait on him hand and foot?”

“Only every day.” He grabs Erica as she tilts toward him, then moves to sit next to me on the couch. Erica stands between us, reaching out to pat my face for a moment.

“Hi, Love,” I tell her, turning my face to kiss her hand. “You really do enjoy the nudity, don’t you?”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Chandler teases, keeping a finger hooked in the back of Erica’s diaper so she can’t go far.

“It’s nice to be naked sometimes. It’s comfortable. It’s very freeing.”

“Yeah, well, as long as she doesn’t find it to be so comfortable and freeing when she gets to college, I can live with it.”

“What if she wants to live in a commune and be naked all the time?”

“Over my dead body.”

I look down at my daughter, who’s smiling happily, almost wickedly, as if she knows something we don’t. “No one will ever have to dare her to take off her clothes, that’s for sure.”

Chandler groans and closes his eyes, looking pained. “No, no, no.”

“Erica, I don’t think your daddy is going to let you grow up. No high school, no college, no life.”

He opens one eye just a crack, glaring at me. “Yeah, because you’re going to let Jack do all those things.”

“Neither of them, if I can help it. Or the next one. Babies forever.” I lean forward and kiss Jack’s head, then stand him up so he’s face to face with his sister. The two immediately begin to point and poke at each other, and I’m sure it means something to them, before Jack scooches down onto the couch, sitting so he can all of our faces.

“So, while we have a minute, do you want to talk about what we’re going to name the baby?”

I shift toward him a little, feeling the baby twist inside of me. “Any thoughts?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d have some ideas. I mean, are you getting any sort of gender vibe?”

“Not a one,” I answer, shaking my head. “Maybe if it wasn’t my first time, I’d be able to say if it was definitely one or the other, judging by how the last one went, but for now…nothing.”

“Well, you mentioned Daniel at one point, remember? You’ve had that name picked out forever.”

“Hmmm. Jack and Daniel Bing. Wouldn’t make us sound like raging alcoholics at all.”

Chandler bursts out laughing, Jack smiling up at him. “Can you believe I never once thought about that?”

“Yeah, well, Daniel is definitely out. I don’t know, hon. I don’t mind knocking around ideas, but I don’t know if I want to pick out an absolute name yet. I mean, what if we decide on one thing but when we meet the baby, that’s not who he or she is? Do we stick with that name because we’ve been calling the baby that, or do we pick a new name that fits? I know we were pretty set on Jack and Erica, and it worked because that’s who they are, but…I’m kind of okay with winging it a little.”

“Monica Geller is okay with not having all the answers?”

“Well, parenthood seems to have kind of knocked that out of me. It seems that babies are kind of a wildcard and do whatever the he…ck they want anyway. And, also…just call me Monica Bing.”

Chandler’s eyes grow wide as a smile spreads over his face. “Yeah? I thought you thought ‘Bing’ was weird.”

I shrug helplessly. “It is, a little, but it’s _our_ name. It’s on the twins’ birth certificates; it’s going to be on the baby’s. It’s on our mailbox and most people call me ‘Mrs. Bing’ anyway. I don’t want to be the only one that’s different.”

The look on his face melts my heart; he looks so happy. “Really?”

I reach out and stroke his cheek. “Really. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I just need to go and actually get it changed.”

“I love you,” he whispers and I feel my heart flutter. A moment later, the baby starts to kick, feeling like it’s tap dancing inside of me.

“Give me your hand,” I tell Chandler, gesturing to my stomach. His hand reaches out for me and I immediately place it over the baby’s feet.

“Oh, wow,” he breathes.

“When I’m happy, the baby’s happy,” I remind him, the look of wonder on his face making my heart soar.

“Our baby is so strong.”

“Our baby is perfect. All of our babies are perfect.”

He leans over and kisses me, squishing Jack and Erica between us for just a moment, though neither seems to mind.

“Mama.” I smile when I hear Jack’s tiny voice, even though he’s still not to the point of being able to actually call me that.

“That’s right, sweetie. I’m Mama.” I look down at him to find him staring back at me.

“Mama.”

My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, almost afraid that if I move, I’ll some realize I’ve imagined this. “Chandler, did he just call me ‘Mama’?” My voice is barely above a whisper, and I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. I don’t what to do now, or how to get him to say it again.

“Who is this, Jack?” Chandler asks, pointing to me. “Is this Dada?”

Jack looks truly puzzled for a moment, as if he’s unsure why someone would try to confuse him. “Mama,” is all he says, and it’s plenty.

I feel my eyes fill with tears again, and I hear Chandler sniffling a little next to me. “Oh, my beautiful boy. That’s right. I’m Mama. And Mama loves you so much.” I pull him into my arms and he gurgles happily. I look up over at Chandler, who looks just as astounded as I feel.

“That was…wow. Did he really just say that?”

“I think he did. I think he really did.” I kiss Jack’s forehead, then sit him on my belly once more. “Can you say it again for Mama?” He ducks his head and looks at me through his eyelashes, his little hands pressed together. “Look at my shy guy. You’re so smart, Jack. Did you know that? You’re so smart.” He smiles and tilts forward until his forehead is pressed against my chest.

“I think he’s embarrassed.”

I stroke my son’s back adoringly. “If you have to turn a year old, I will totally take you saying my name in exchange.”

“Erica, can you say ‘Mama’?” Chandler asks, and I look down at her, wondering what she’ll do. Erica looks back and forth between her father and myself for a couple of seconds before opening her mouth and letting out a loud belch. I roll my eyes and feel my body shake with laughter. “That’s my classy little girl.”

“She looks so proud of herself, too.”

“All right, so maybe no talking for this one yet.”

“We have one walking and one talking. I think we’re doing all right. “

“Don’t forget the one that likes to pulverize your insides,” he reminds me, his hand coming up to gently rub my stomach.

“I would never.” I peak down at Jack, who seems content to sit awkwardly against me, then at Erica, who seems to be waiting for more praise about her belch. “Since we have two relatively calm children, including one who’s basically naked, how about we give them their bath now? They’ve had a pretty busy, exciting day and they probably won’t be awake much longer.”

“Good call,” Chandler answers, heaving himself and Erica up from the couch. He reaches out and grabs Jack so I can use both hands to get myself into a standing position, which is easier said than done lately. Once standing, he hands Jack back to me, knowing that I’ll want to be close to him for the moment.

I lead the way upstairs and behind me Chandler asks, “How long do you think everyone will wait tomorrow before showing up anyway?”

I chuckle a little, holding Jack with one hand and the banister with the other. Chandler and I both took the twins’ birthday off from work, figuring we could spend the day with them, more for us than for them at this point. And even though everyone we know and love came to celebrate them today, we’re fairly certain that there will be a steady stream of people coming to visit all day.

Who could blame them, really?

“Noon at the absolute latest. My parents will probably show up by nine, though.”

“That’s kind of what I was figuring.”

We make our way into the bathroom and Chandler goes about getting their bath ready, testing the water and adding their toys. I lean against the doorframe, resting my back for a bit, Jack’s head popping up to watch his father. For the most part, both kids enjoy bathtime, which makes our life a bit easier, though this part is always easier to manage when there are two of us. Trying to clean two squirmy babies at once is beyond tricky.

I balance my son on the sink and start peeling off his clothes, crusty and funky from the day’s festivities. I pick him up and blow on his belly, his hands going into my hair as he laughs. “You’re too much, kid,” I tell him, bringing him to my hip once more. “I love you so much.”

“Mama.”

He’s looking at me again, a smile on his face, and I can tell that he knows what he’s saying and who he’s saying it to. It’s the most wonderfully heartbreaking thing in the entire world.

I see Chandler grinning at me as he eases Erica into the tub, and I pass off Jack as I slowly lower myself into a sitting position next to my husband. Once the two of them are in the tub together, their hands start smacking the water, their feet kicking, splashing each other and us, incoherent streams of consonants pouring out of their mouths.

I bite my lip to keep from crying; my little boy said his first actual word today, and it was “mama.” Nothing has ever sounded more beautiful.


	20. Chapter 20

“I feel like a beached whale.”

I frown and shake my head even though I know she can’t see me. For the last week or so, Monica’s been feeling terribly self-conscious of her body, almost as if she’s convinced that something has changed drastically recently. She doesn’t seem to realize that she’s completely gorgeous right now.

I poke my head into the living room. “For what it’s worth, you look nothing like a whale, beached or otherwise.”

She looks at me in complete disbelief, and I just sigh and disappear into the kitchen. I don’t know what I can do to convince her that she’s still incredible.

See, my wife is completely amazing; she’s beautiful, she’s funny, she’s talented, she’s smart, she’s an amazing mother, and sometimes she’s incredibly goofy and silly and a little crazy. But there’s something about Monica that most people don’t know; she’s ridiculously insecure.

You’d never know it just by looking at her—she’s always so poised and put together, and she has this wonderful ability make it look as if she thinks she’s the queen of the world, but really, most of the time, she’s completely bogged down by self-doubt.

I’m sure a lot of it is left-over from when she was overweight as a child, but she’s had issues with her self-worth for as long as I’ve known her, though it was years before I was privy to that information. Not until we were neighbors did I really start to get an idea of just how insecure she can be.

I’d help her get ready for a date, watching her go through almost her entire wardrobe until she found an outfit she felt comfortable in, meticulously applying and reapplying makeup, wondering anxiously if this guy would like her. It wasn’t until around the time we started dating that I began to get an idea of just how much her childhood affected her. All things considered, she’s surprisingly well-adjusted, but that doesn’t mean these things don’t still crop up.

Early on in our relationship, I had a tendency to just stare at her in wonder, taking in as much of her as I possibly could just in case we went up in flames. Actually, I still stare at her, mostly because I have a tough time believing that she’s mine, but I don’t think that will ever change. But back then, when she caught me staring, she’d pull a blanket over herself, or find an excuse to leave the room, something to change my focus. During sex, she was and still is gloriously unabashed, something about the act making her completely unconcerned with anything other than how to get Tab A into Slot B.

It’s always been interesting to me that the people who should have all the self-confidence in the world wind up being the ones with the most issues. It’s not as if her extreme OCD came from nowhere.

But we wound up talking about a lot of this stuff during our first few months together, about how she’s always been so self-conscious about her body; when she was overweight and the butt of jokes and insults, and when she got healthy and became the object of desire and lust. I know that she gradually got used to the attention and she’s told me that being with me has made her much more comfortable in her own skin. But for all the concerns she had before we got married about me dumping her if she gained weight or her body changed when she got pregnant, she’s been much more concerned about it than I have. Personally, I think she looks great. She’s the most adorable pregnant woman ever, and for the most part just looks like she’s hiding a basketball under her shirt. It’s really very cute, especially when I picture our baby all curled up inside of her, just along for the ride.

But, again, I’m guessing she’s seeing something that I’m not, whether it’s real or imagined.

I don’t know; maybe it’s because we haven’t had sex in a while, though it’s not for lack of interest on my part. Lately, she’s just been brushing me off, saying she’s tired or sore or a combination of the two, and I’m okay with that. Her body is doing a hell of a lot more work right now than it ever has before; she’s still on her feet for eight hours a day working, she runs after two one-year-olds at home. If anyone has a right to be sore and tired, it’s Monica, which is why I haven’t pushed the issue. I certainly don’t want her to feel like she _has_ to have sex.

With another sigh, I finish wiping off the counters and turn on the dishwasher and join Monica in the living room, sitting down next to her on the couch. I put a hand on her stomach and lean over for a kiss, and I could swear it’s only reluctantly she lets me kiss her. I feel the baby shift under my hand and grin—this kid has gotten so active lately, constantly twisting and turning, stretching and poking, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t constantly have the hiccups. Watching Monica’s stomach bounce up and down as our child hiccups inside of her is the funniest, most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.

I look down at the floor and see the twins playing, occasionally with each other, sometimes on their own. Jack is methodically putting his colored rings in order on their stand, taking great care before picking each size, trying to make sure he’s going in the right order. Erica’s casually stacking blocks, only managing to get them two-or three-high before she smacks at them, laughing gleefully as they tumble down. Jack shoots her dirty looks when one of the blocks enters his personal space but makes no comment. Far too quickly, Erica gets bored with building and crawls over to her brother, sitting almost directly on his rings.

“Ehh boh!” he yells, smacking his hand on the ground, which I think roughly translates to “Erica no.”

Not surprisingly, she just giggles and picks up one of the rings, shoving it into her mouth.

Jack looks over at us, his face turning pink with irritation, expecting one of us to swoop in and save the day. Monica just shakes her head, looking amused. “You’ve got this, buddy. Ask for it back.”

He turns back to his sister and holds out a hand, fingers spread wide. “Eeeee.” Erica shuffles a little closer to him and sits down, her posture and position mirroring his exactly; it’s when they do something like this—sit toe-to-toe and look at each other—than we can tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’re twins. Aside from the same dark eyes, they’re looking less and less like each other now, until we see their profiles; then, it’s almost like seeing a reflection. Erica holds out the ring for her brother and he grabs at it, tossing it away suddenly and laughing. He hauls himself onto his knees and crawls away at warp speed, Erica close on his heels.

Their laughter fills the room and I can’t help but laugh along with them—they do a great job of keeping themselves entertained, and by extension, Monica and I are entertained, sometimes for hours.

“Hey—you think they’ll play with the new baby like this?” I ask suddenly.

“I sure hope so. The tricky part will be teaching them that they need to be gentle with it.”

“I don’t think that’ll thrill Erica much.”

“I get the feeling that Jack will be the one who gets frustrated with it, actually. I don’t think he’ll really be able to understand _why_ the baby isn’t at his level and get irritated. I think Erica will be the one to take the time to show the baby things and, in her own way, explain the world. I’m sure it’ll rub off on Jack eventually, but I think this is going to be an interesting focus for her energy.”

Huh. I’ve never thought of it that way, though I suppose it’s entirely possible.

We watch them zoom around the room for a while longer, tumbling occasionally, sometimes bumping into each other, though neither seem bothered by it.

“Maybe they’ll tire themselves out earlier than usual,” I suggest, moving my hand from her belly down to trace gentle lines on her thigh. “And we could put them down for a nap soon.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” she answers noncommittally, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable.

“And maybe we could go upstairs and…take a little nap of our own.”

She shifts away from me a little, but it’s enough to feel like I’ve been slapped. “You don’t have to have sex with me, you know.”

“I know I don’t _have_ to, but I definitely _want_ to.”

“I don’t need a pity screw.”

My eyes grow wide, surprised she would even think that. “Whoa, Monica—where did that come from?”

“Look—I know that I look considerably less than appealing right now. I’m bloated and puffy and swollen and—”

I cut her off before she can go any farther. “You’re completely beautiful. I don’t know where you’ve gotten the idea that I don’t want you or that you’re some sort of obligation, but I can assure you that I want to be with you. Desperately.”

“You can’t possibly want to be with someone who looks like this.”

“Want to bet? I always want you, babe. _Always_. If you’re not up for sex or you’re too tired or whatever, that’s fine. I can understand that. But please don’t think that I don’t want you because that is definitely _not_ the case.”

She pouts a little, looking eerily similar to the twins. “But you don’t…I’m not…”

“You’re sexy,” I reassure her. “You’re always sexy. You always have been, and you always will be. I can promise you that there’s no pity on my end, though if you’d take pity on _me_ and put me out of my misery, I’d be more than thrilled. And again, though, if you’re not in the mood, that is completely fine. I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”

She sighs, watching the twins settle back onto the floor, passing toys back and forth to each other now. “I want to feel beautiful.”

I almost laugh, catching myself just in time. “I think I can arrange that.”

“But I’m so big—”

“Monica, I can promise you that you’re really not that big. I am happy to take you upstairs and worship you until we collapse from exhaustion if that’s what it’ll take to make you feel beautiful. I’ll wait on you hand and foot, I’ll rub your back, whatever it takes…I’ll do it.”

She looks at me for a while, considering. I know that her hormones are doing wild, crazy things to her right now—and not all of them positive—but I hope that she can see that I’m sincere, that all I want is to make her happy.

“It’s safe for us to have sex while I’m this pregnant, right?”

Fortunately, I’ve been doing a lot of research on this topic. “As long as you’re comfortable and our doctor hasn’t said otherwise, it’s completely safe. Plus, there are a lot of positions we could use that would be comfortable for you…”

Her finger traces patterns on the back of my hand, and I take that as a good sign. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

I glance over at Jack and Erica and see that they’re still occupied with each other, still trading things back and forth; since they’re relatively still, they’re probably getting to the point of sleepy. “Well, there’s spooning, which is supposed to be super comfortable while you’re pregnant. We could do it on a chair, or doggy is supposed to be pretty good because it takes the pressure off your belly. You could be on top, either in the regular position or reverse cowgirl. I saw something about putting you on a table or counter at the right level, or you can brace your hands against a wall while we stand up…”

Her eyebrows reach for her hairline, and she looks impressed. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

“I like to be prepared.”

She looks at me quietly for a few long moments before pulling herself into a standing position. “I think they’re tired. Don’t you think they’re tired?”

I spring into action. “On it.” I hop over to the kids, picking up Jack first and handing him to Monica. He smiles and pats her face gently.

“Mama.” His little voice calling Monica “mama” is seriously one of the best things ever. Erica has yet to expand her repertoire much beyond “uh-oh,” though she has started saying, “NO” when the mood suits her. Monica and I refuse to acknowledge that one as her first word. She hears it all the time and therefore repeats it; we just do our best not to react to it, hoping it’ll calm down. We’re both kind of hoping her first real word will be “dada,” though since she hears Jack saying “mama” all the time, she might pick up on that one first. For now, she seems content with being able to point at things and have people trip all over themselves to fulfill her every desire.

Erica’s already reaching for me, her little arms stretched out. I pull her against my chest and she cuddles into me, grabbing my t-shirt and pulling it into her mouth. With as little fanfare as possible, we bring them up to their room, stripping them down to just their onsies and checking their diapers before settling them into their cribs. Jack settles down immediately, his eyes closing right away, always ready for a nap. Erica looks a little offended that we’re hustling her off to bed and pulls herself into a sitting position. Fortunately, all she does is start talking to herself softly—she’ll probably drift off in a few minutes—so I grab Monica’s hand and pull her into our bedroom.

I don’t give her a chance to second guess herself before I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to hers. She sighs in frustration a few moments later, pulling away from me. “It’s all awkward,” she says, gesturing to her belly.

“It’s a challenge,” I correct, changing my angle a bit. “I like a challenge.” I kiss her once more, the baby not pressed between us as much now. Carefully, I maneuver her over to the bed and help her sit down; I angle my body in the opposite direction so that I can still wrap my arms around her and kiss her, but so that our torsos are facing away from each other. She moans into my mouth suddenly, deepening the kiss, and I feel excitement course through my veins. I pull her closer, kissing her more, moving down her neck and up her throat, doing everything in my power to make her feel loved and relaxed.

I give a gentle tug at the hem of her shirt, silently asking for permission, hoping I’m not moving too fast. She hesitates for a moment before nodding, and we break our kiss.

Slowly, I slide my hands under her shirt and up her belly, marveling at how taut but yielding her flesh is right now. Her shirt rides up, bunching beneath her breasts and I struggle to keep my motions slow and gentle.

Interestingly enough, despite how self-conscious she suddenly is around me, she’s been steering clear of maternity shirts for the most part, instead opting to wear mostly form-fitting tops, proudly displaying the bump. Not that it offends me in the slightest; I thoroughly enjoy being able to see her rounded stomach at any chance I can get.

Her hands reach out and stroke my sides, her touch soft and fluttery. A shiver runs down my spine and I kiss her again, a little more urgently now. Her touch has always had the ability to drive me crazy.

I slide my hands gently down her back, feeling her muscles relax a bit as her body eases into mine, and she sighs against me. I pull back again for a moment, ripping my shirt off over my head, tossing it over my shoulder before reattaching my lips to hers

“I love you,” she whispers suddenly, her breathing already heavy.

I cup her face in my hands, looking her in the eye. “I love you, too. Never doubt that.”

She smiles at me shakily and grabs the bottom of her shirt and pulls it off, dropping it onto the floor. I readjust my position, kneeling next to her, bending over to run my lips over her stomach. She leans back, her hands bracing behind her on the bed, and I see her eyes drift shut. I run a gentle finger over her bellybutton, now mostly popped out, and watch her shudder a little. I feel the baby move under my lips and can’t help but laugh a little.

“You think he knows what’s going on out here?”

“God, I hope not,” she answers with a laugh of her own. “But maybe all the rocking that’s about to happen will put her to sleep.”

I kiss her belly for a few more minutes before tentatively moving north. I kiss up her arms and to her shoulders, not want to push her too far too fast, and slide my hands around her back once more, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra. “This okay?” I ask softly, my lips pressed against her clavicle. I feel her nod against me and I unhook the garment; I wait for her to make the next move, willing to take as long as she needs to be comfortable with it.

She shifts her shoulders and the bra slides down, and I take that as my cue; I slide it gently down the rest of her arms, paying no attention to where it goes as I start kissing my way across her chest. I want so badly to stare at her, to take her all in, but that will probably make her feel even more self-conscious right now.

“Oh, Goooooood,” she moans suddenly and my body instantly goes on alert, my Pavlovian response to her noises fully activated. Unable to control myself, my lips move down her breasts, pleased that there’s more territory to cover.

I must make a happy noise because I feel her hand in my hair as she chuckles. “I know—they’re huge now.”

“They’re so beautiful,” I mumble, working my way around them, trying to steer clear of what are probably extra-sensitive nipples. Her heart starts thumping in her chest; I can feel it pounding beneath my cheek. “_You_ are so beautiful.”

She arches her back a little, pushing herself toward me and I peek up at her. “You sure?”

She nods slowly. “In a couple of months, they’re going to belong almost exclusively to someone else—I want you to get some time in now.”

Happily, I oblige, and aside from a squeak at first, Monica’s only making contented humming sounds.

I’ve basically been obsessed with Monica’s breasts since…well, years now. Even before I was allowed access to them I found them to be wildly fascinating, though in all honesty, my fascination wasn’t limited to her. But for years now, not only has she granted me access to her chest, she’s encouraged it. And when you have a woman who loves to have her breasts played with and someone who is definitely a breast man…well, it just works.

“Hey,” I breathe in between nips and licks. “Do you think I’ll get to keep these after the baby is done with ‘em?”

“You mean will they stay this big?” She moans a little as I finally, carefully, pull a nipple into my mouth. “Maybe. Probably not, but they could.”

Her voice is starting to turn hazy as I’m overcome with bliss; I love doing this with her. The teasing, the foreplay, the actual act, holding her after…every single part of it always goes beyond my wildest dreams. I stand up and unzip my jeans, wincing as the zipper drags painfully over my erection in my haste. Monica does her best to hide an amused snort, but I just shake my head and carry on.

One of the best parts of sex after being together this long is that we’re not that worried with trying to impress each other, at least not in the way we used to be. There’s no embarrassment when one of us makes a weird sound or trips over their underwear, there’s not a constant concern with looking sexy for each other while naked…we know each other. We have fun together. We can laugh at each other and ourselves when something ridiculous happens and just keep going, the humor adding to the magic that is married sex. It’s amazing to love someone so completely that the things that used to matter, the things you thought would always matter when you’re single, just don’t anymore, and the only important thing is just being together. We’re coming up on seven years together, and sex is _still_ better with Monica than it ever was with anyone else.

I lean over Monica, taking her face in my hands and kissing her to the best of my abilities. She smiles against my lips and I can feel her coming back to me. I graze my hands down her sides, fingering the edge of her maternity pants, and I feel her freeze again for a few moments. I wait and just keep kissing her.

“Help me stand,” she finally mumbles, and I take her hands in mine, pulling her to her feet. Her hands slide up and down me a few times, gently tugging at me, and I whimper and close my eyes, trying to concentrate on anything but the things her hands do to me. I toy with the edge of her pants again.

“You ready?” She nods and slides the pants down her legs, bringing what she considers to be embarrassing maternity underwear with them. She braces herself on my shoulder as she lifts first one leg then the other to step out of her pants. I slide my hands up her legs slowly as I stand, moving gently across her ass then back to her stomach, caressing her gently. “How do you want to do this?” I whisper, bringing my lips to her neck.

“I’ll be on top,” she answers softly, and I’m not surprised. Monica needs control right now, and that position will certainly provide her with that.

I take Monica’s hand and help her onto the bed, crawling on after her, arranging the pillows so that I’m reclined against the headboard. She bites her lip anxiously and I take a few moments to really look at her, hoping it’s not too much. She _does_ look a lot different, but in a very good way. Her hips are wider now, getting ready for giving birth in a couple of months. Her breasts are definitely larger, wonderfully larger, and the swell of her stomach is almost enough to do me in completely.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she finally whispers, and I reach out to stroke her knee.

“You won’t,” I promise.

Slowly, very slowly, she moves across my thighs, sitting just behind my erection, close enough so that I can feel the heat coming out of her. I feel my heart pounding; she’s so close and so far away.

She inches herself closer until I can feel her against me, rubbing herself languidly up and down my shaft, her hands braced against my knees. All I can do is groan and try not to thrust my hips. She pushes against me a little harder and I almost choke—I want her so badly I think I might explode.

She lifts herself up on her knees a bit, giving me an irritated look when she can’t manage to get herself high enough to slide onto me.

I tickle her thighs and shift my hips a bit. “It’s pretty flexible, if you recall.”

She takes me in hand again, and I clutch at the soft flesh of her thighs to keep myself in check, groaning as I watch myself disappear inside of her. She moans loudly, sounding incredibly relieved.

“Oh, God, I needed this so badly,” she moans, swiveling her hips against me gently.

“Does this feel okay?” I ask, my voice tight, my breathing labored.

“This feels so great,” she answers, bracing her hands on my thighs, lifting her hips off me for just a moment before sliding back down.

“Tell me if you need anything.”

“Touch me,” she answers immediately. “Everywhere. All over.”

I slide my hands across her belly to her hips, helping guide her motions for a few minutes, utterly fascinated with the way her body moves on top of me. I move one hand up to her breasts and squeeze a little; her mouth drops open as she moans out a long, “Ohhhhhhhh.”

I move my hand from her hip to her pelvis, my fingers instantly finding her sweet spot, her hips bucking against me erratically for a few moments.

“Oh, God yes, baby. Ohhhhh.”

My mostly prone position only allows for a limited amount of movement on my part, but watching her on top of me like this makes it very difficult for me to control myself. I hate that she forgets just how beautiful she is, but I love that I get to be the one to remind her.

Her fingers dig into my thighs as she pumps up and down, her inner muscles clench at me, her thighs squeeze me.

I move my hands back to her hips, holding on to her, pushing my hips into her gently. Already, I feel my muscles start to clench, and I take several deep breaths. I know I’m the sure thing right now; it’s my wife who may need a bit more coaxing. I’d hate to have talked her into this, convinced her that I could make her feel beautiful, only to lose control so quickly.

“You feel so unbelievable,” I grunt out.

“Oh, Gooooooood, so do you.” She moves a little faster, and I, naturally, find myself fascinated by her bouncing breasts, the look of intense pleasure and concentration on her face doesn’t hurt.

“You still good?”

She laughs a little, the vibration of it coursing through me. “Oh, yeah. I’m good.” She stops for a moment, panting, swiping her hair out of her face, smiling down at me. “Next time I get stupid, remind me of how much fun this is.”

“Will do,” I answer through clenched teeth. I can feel the sweat dripping down the side of my face as I struggle for control. “I’m sorry to sound less than romantic, but I feel like I could pop at any second.”

She grins at me and grinds her hips down on me, rotating them rapidly. “Hey,” she pants. “Remember how horny I was for the first couple of trimesters?”

“How could I forget?” I answer, sliding my hands up her back, running my fingers up her spine.

“Well, I don’t think that ever went away.” Her eyes slam shut as she pushes against me rapidly, her hips hardly leaving mine; she does more grinding, which is probably easier on her right now. Doesn’t matter to me; it all feels fantastic.

My hips move frantically against her; I can feel her body tensing. I dig my fingers into her, my body straining for just a little more control. I feel her thighs squeeze against me a little harder. Her hands find mine, linking our fingers together, our knuckles turning white.

“Ohhhh, ohhhhh, gah…I’m…Chan…please..YESYESYESYES.” Her head falls back, her moans echoing off the ceiling, her entire body vibrating as she moves on top of me, her orgasm rippling through her. I grip her hands tighter, bringing our joined fingers to her hips as my arms tense, my hips thrusting out of control, undignified grunts and groans escaping my lips, my release feeling out of this world.

She keeps rocking against me, her body flushed and sweaty, riding out as many waves as possible before our bodies give out on us. She lets out one final, loud, “ahhhhhhhhhhh!” before her body goes boneless. I grab onto her, keeping her upright for a few moments as we carefully shift around until she’s lying on her side and I’m curled up behind her, my arms wrapped around her.

“That was so goooooood,” I moan, kissing her shoulder.

Her hands squeeze mine. “Thank you.”

“How do you feel now?” I whisper into her ear.

“Beautiful. So, _so_ beautiful. Really damn satisfied. And tired.”

I kiss her neck before moving back to her shoulders. “Sleep for a little while.” I stroke her stomach for a moment. “Is this one actually sleeping?”

She’s silent for a moment, contemplating, waiting. “I think so. If not, it’s really close to it.”

“All that rocking really make it go to sleep?”

She shrugs, cuddling further into me. “Walking around all day makes it go to sleep; why wouldn’t sex?” We’re quiet for a few moments, our fingers playing together. “Jack and Erica are asleep, aren’t they?”

I listen to the monitor; all I hear is crackling. “Sounds that way.”

“Good.” She yawns, pillowing her head on my arm. “Me, too.”

I kiss the back of her head. “Okay. I’ve got this.” I feel her relax against me and I sigh. A moment later, I hear noise from the monitor. I groan; my body is sore. I look at the clock and realize over an hour has passed. “What the hell?” I mumble. I guess I passed out.

Monica mumbles something and I kiss her cheek. “Don’t move. I’ll go check.” Carefully, I disentangle myself from my wife, shaking my head as I try to stand up. I look around for my boxers; all I can find is Monica’s bra. “That won’t work.” I finally spot my pajama pants on the floor under a heap of blankets and yank them on.

I walk down the hall, scrubbing my face sleepily—I didn’t realize I was that exhausted. I walk into the nursery and see Erica standing up in her crib, grinning at me. I smile back and look in on Jack, whose face is pressed into the side of the mattress, his mouth hanging open as drool oozes from him. I stroke his head for a moment before turning to my daughter, still grinning at me widely.

“What’s up, little butt?” I ask and she stretches her arms out to me.

“Dada.”

I gasp, freezing just as I reach for her. “What did you say, Erica?”

She stretches out to me some more, reaching over the edge of her crib. “Dada!”

I pick her up, speechless for a moment. I look at the monitor and whisper frantically, “Monica, did you hear that?”

“Oh, my God!” I hear her exclaim and look up; she’s standing in the doorway, tying her robe. I don’t think either of realized she could still move that quickly. “Did she just say what I think she just said? Did she just ask for her Dada?” She reaches my side and runs her hand through Erica’s hair.

I feel tears fill my eyes as I kiss the side of my baby’s head. I can’t believe how amazing it is to hear Erica say my name. It’s absolutely unbelievable and I feel like I might burst from happiness.

Monica looks up at me and laughs. “It’s all over for you now, buddy. If you thought she owned you before…” She slides her arm around my waist, resting her head against my arm.

I laugh in wonder, tucking my daughter under my chin. “That was amazing.” Erica wriggles against me and a moment later I wrinkle my nose. “_That_ was _not_ amazing.”

Monica muffles her laughter against my shoulder. “Definitely amazing. You’re so whipped.” She goes over to Jack’s crib and lifts him up. “Come on, sweetie—Daddy and Erica have a date with a number two.” Jack blinks sleepily, smacking his lips as Monica smirks at me and leaves the nursery.

I put Erica on the changing table and Monica pokes her head back into the room. “Congrats, Dada.”

I smile up at her as Erica claps her hands. “Thanks, Mama.”

Even Erica’s disgusting diaper can’t ruin this moment.

Mostly.


	21. Chapter 21

I shiver a little as the cold air of the doctor’s office hits my bare stomach, but otherwise I say nothing. Chandler has my gown pulled up over my stomach and is quietly speaking to our unborn child.

I sigh and shift a little against the uncomfortable examining table, trying to fight down the aggravation I feel right now—I mean, he can talk to the baby any time he wants to, and usually does, but now he wants to do it in the middle of a doctor’s office? Not earlier, when we had plenty of time at home and I was wearing normal clothes and there wasn’t a medical staff flitting about. Nope; he wants to do it _now._

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose, trying my hardest to redirect my annoyance; Chandler doesn’t deserve it. He hasn’t done anything except try to be there for me every step of the way. He gets up in the middle of the night when I need something as simple as a glass of water, he rubs my feet when they’re tired from standing all day, he takes care of our twins whenever possible just to ease my burden. He’s a great father and a wonderful husband and the fact that I’m feeling nothing but wrath toward him right now is insane.

Logically, I know it’s my hormones. They’re on a rampage and there’s nothing I can do to control it. But knowing that I’m inexplicably mad at my husband just serves to piss me off further, and I wind up taking it out on him.

I clench my fists and try to calm down. If nothing else, this is elevating my blood pressure and that can’t be good for the baby.

I feel Chandler press his lips against my belly and, despite my unfounded fury, I feel my eyes fill with tears; now I feel even worse for thinking such horrible, uncharitable thoughts about him.

He doesn’t deserve this.

His hand comes up and gently rubs my stomach and I really feel like I could just break down into inconsolable tears.

“The baby must be pretty cramped in there, huh?” he asks softly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

I look down at my stomach, which is definitely tilting to the left right now; the baby has apparently decided that this is much more comfortable than being centered. I shrug and make a noncommittal noise.

His hand shifts so that he’s stroking that side of my belly, his fingers gently running over the bumps and ridges of our child. “Is that the head?”

I put my hand near his, pushing a little and wait. I feel a tiny bit of movement. I give the baby another nudge and I feel what definitely has to be toes knocking into my ribcage as the baby stretches out. “No, I think that’s its tiny little ass.”

He chuckles a little, watching my stomach shift position slightly. “How can you tell that?”

I shift again as the baby jostles my insides, then move my hand to the lower edge of my ribcage. “Because its foot is right here.”

He looks up at me, eyes wide. “Can _I_ feel it?”

“Unless you’re able to actually get your hands completely under my ribs, I sincerely doubt it.”

I see the wounded look in Chandler’s eyes for just a second before he redirects his attention to my belly and I roll my eyes, though more at myself than at him. I shouldn’t be reprimanding him for wanting to be able to feel his own child move. He doesn’t have all this stuff happening inside of him; he just has to live vicariously through me.

I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself how much of a miracle this truly is for the two of us and just appreciate it; I only have about eight weeks of pregnancy left. No matter how uncomfortable I am right now, or how much more uncomfortable I’ll get as the baby starts to grow at an exponential rate, I need to try to enjoy it, because I thought I’d never get to have it.

And if my stupid hormones would just stop screwing with me, I might be able to do just that.

“Why do you think its butt is way out there?” he asks softly, and I can see him tracing a heart on my stomach. My eyes fill with tears that I try valiantly to blink away. I’m a horrible wife.

“Other than it must be fun to see how many of Mommy’s organs it can squish at one time, I have no idea. It’s probably just trying to get comfortable while it sleeps.” I give the baby another gentle nudge. “Would you mind moving back to where you’re supposed to be?” I feel it shift a little, centering itself just a bit; my stomach is still kind of lopsided, but not as awkwardly.

“It’s kinda cool that you can get the baby to move like that,” he says tentatively.

“You probably can, too. Give ‘im a little push.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No way. I’ll hurt him.”

I grab his hand and put it on the lump that’s still pushing out of the side of my stomach. “No you won’t. All you need is a little nudge, though. Give it a shot.”

Carefully, he pushes his fingertips against the baby and I gasp out in shock as the baby jumps inside of me, shifting suddenly and rapidly. Chandler rips his hand away like he’s been burned. “Oh, my God, what did I do?”

I laugh a little even as I try to get my heartbeat under control. “Nothing. I think you just scared it.”

“How could I have scared it?!”

“Well, it was probably sleeping, and maybe you poked just the right spot.”

He doesn’t look convinced or any less concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. That was just the strangest damn thing.” I rub my stomach for a moment, which is suddenly looking a lot less lopsided. “I mean, I’ve read a little about it, you know? I just didn’t realize it’d feel…well, like a tiny person skittering across your insides.” I take his hand again and put it back on my belly. “It’s okay. You definitely got him to move, though.”

He chuckles a little, though his face still looks tense. He leans forward, pressing his cheek gently to my stomach. “I’m sorry, little nugget. Daddy didn’t mean to scare you.” I feel the baby kick and Chandler’s eyes grow wide as he laughs. “Hey! That was my face! But I guess I deserved that.”

I tap the side of my belly, laughing gently. “Don’t kick Daddy, little one. It’s rude.” Chandler looks up at me adoringly and I feel a little startled, swallowing hard. “What?”

“Is everything okay?”

I open my mouth to ask what he means, then close my mouth and sigh. I know what he means. “I’m sorry. I think it’s my hormones going out of control. I can’t control it and I hate it. I’m overreacting to everything and I’m treating you horribly.”

“It’s okay, you know.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not fair to you. You can’t help it.”

“Yeah, but you’re growing a baby. You’re allowed to be a little emotional.”

“It’s not just—” I’m interrupted by a tap at the door, Dr. Rosen following a moment later, grinning at us.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite patients—the Bings.”

I roll my eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls with funny last names.”

“Only when I mean it.” She walks up beside me and looks down at Chandler, who stares back at her in confusion for a moment before realizing his head is in the way.

“Oh! Sorry,” he says, moving out of the doctor’s way, coming to stand next to my head. The doctor places her hands on my stomach, feeling around, pressing gently from time to time.

“So, how’s everything going?”

“Chandler scared the baby.”

Dr. Rosen snickers and looks up at him. “How’d you manage that?”

Chandler looks horrified all over again. “I didn’t mean to! All I did was give it a little nudge to get it to move.”

“Yep, and the baby jumped and basically ran and hid.”

“Well, that would definitely explain why it feels like it’s tucked more tightly against you than normal.” The doctor smiles at Chandler’s crestfallen face. “Don’t get too upset about it. That kind of thing happens all the time. Just think of it this way; your kid has great reflexes. Legs in the stirrups, Monica.”

I make a face but slide down a little on the table, lifting my legs into position. I feel Chandler’s fingers thread through mine and I give his hand a little squeeze.

“No Wonder Twins today?” she asks as she snaps on her gloves. I’m always amazed at how gynecologists are able to carry on such normal conversations while prodding around a woman’s undercarriage.

I clear my throat. “Ah, no. They’re with a couple of friends of ours. They’re expecting a baby, too, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dr. Rosen looks up and smiles for a moment before going back to work. “How far along?”

“About four and a half months.”

“Is she expecting multiples, or did you just want to traumatize her?”

Chandler snickers a little. “Just one, as far as we know. And our twins could be a lot worse.”

The doctor winks as she stands up and pulls off her gloves, tossing them in the trash before washing her hands. “I know. Jack and Erica are pretty cool little kids.” She drags her stool over next to us, bringing over the equipment to check the heartbeat. “All right, Mrs. Bing. The baby’s in a good position. It’s starting to drop, which is a good thing. Your cervix looks perfect. Everything looks like it’s going according to plan. It certainly helps that you know pretty much the exact date you got pregnant; definitely narrows down that margin of error. You two still sure you don’t want to know the sex?”

I look up at Chandler and he shrugs down at me. “I’m still good with being surprised, but it’s completely up to you. You carry the baby, you get to decide if you want to know what it is.”

It’s the little things like that that remind me of just how much I love this man…and then I feel like an even bigger ass for letting my mood swings get the best of me. “We’ll wait. We’ve come this far, what’s another eight weeks?” I take a deep breath—eight weeks doesn’t feel like a whole lot of time.

She puts the fetal doppler on my stomach and a few moments later the heartbeat fills the room. The doctor smiles at us as Chandler leans down and kisses my forehead. “Sounds pretty strong to me,” she says. “I think you two are going to have one perfect little baby.”

“No pressure on our fetus, though, right?” Chandler asks, sliding his arm around my shoulders, giving me a little hug.

“You two have been practically textbook this entire time; while nothing’s impossible, it looks like you’re in good shape for a normal, healthy baby.” She gives my leg a pat and I take my feet out of the stirrups, pulling the gown back over my stomach. “Aside from Chandler scaring the baby, how’s everything else going? Any strange aches or pains? Thoughts or concerns?”

A horrible sense of panic wells up inside of me, something I’ve been fighting for days—weeks, if I’m being honest with myself. With no further warning, tears burst out of me and I bury my face in my hands and sob. I can hear Chandler asking if I’m okay, his arm tightening around me, but all I can do is shake my head. His other arm wraps around me and he rocks me back and forth, kissing my head.

“I’m sorry,” I finally whimper. “I’m sorry.”

“Monica, what is it?”

My breath hitches as I fight off more sobs, trying to compose myself. “I—I’m…I’m just so scared.”

“Oh, honey. Scared of what?”

I look up and see my doctor looking at me sympathetically, patiently. “Sorry,” I whisper to her.

“Pregnant women feel a lot of different things, Monica. Sometimes it’s because they can tell something’s wrong, and sometimes it because of the things that could be wrong, and sometimes it’s just because. Don’t apologize for it.”

“Well, I mean…everything’s been going so well, you know? It took so long for us to get pregnant and we’ve had no trouble this entire time, and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And…” I look back and forth between Chandler and the doctor. “I’m really, really scared.”

Chandler’s arms tighten around me. “Scared about what?”

“Labor! I don’t know if I can do it!” I hate that I feel this way; I hate even more admitting it, but I’m scared out of my mind about this. I only have eight weeks, give or take, until a baby is actually going to come out of me. I’ve seen the childbirth video; I watch Erica give birth to the twins. It didn’t look all that spectacular either time. Now I know it’s going to be _me_ in a few weeks and I honestly don’t know if it’s something my body can do.

“Monica?” I look up at my doctor, who gives my leg a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay to be scared. Labor _is_ scary, but I can promise that you can handle it. Your body will take over for you when the time comes, and when it’s all over, you’ll have a brand new baby to add to your collection. Labor is so worth it in the end. Just try to remember that, okay? I’ve seen a lot of women over the years terrified about giving birth, who work themselves up into an absolute tizzy over it, but you know what?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice. Chandler’s arms wrap around me a little tighter.

“Every single one thought it was worth it. None of it matters at the end. Women have been doing this since the beginning of time; you’ll just be another member of the club. _And_, I know it’s scary to think about having three kids. That’s a lot to deal with. But it was scary when you had to bring home twins, right?”

“Totally,” Chandler answers for the both of us. “I didn’t feel ready for that at all.”

“But it’s been pretty good so far, right?”

I sniffle and nod. “Yeah. Jack and Erica are the best things to ever happen to us.”

“And this will be, too. It’s scary and messy and things will go wrong, but in the end, you’ll just love your baby and keep trying. That’s all you can do. It sounds like you have a pretty solid group of friends to help you out, too.”

“We do,” Chandler says. “We definitely do.”

“Just try to breathe. I know it’s not the best solution, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I know you can handle this, and your husband will be with you every step of the way. And don’t forget, your favorite OB-GYN will be here to catch it when you’re ready to push. _You have got this_.”

I don’t feel like I’ve got anything, but I nod anyway. “Okay.”

“Okay. Now, get dressed. I’ll see you back here in a couple of weeks. Next month we’ll take one last sonogram before the baby pops out to make sure everything’s still in place. And Chandler,” she turns to look at my husband, waggling her finger at him. “Take care of her. Don’t let her stress out about this too much.”

“I’ll do whatever I can. Thanks, Doctor.”

Dr. Rosen gives my leg another pat before leaving the room, and I slowly stand up from the table, Chandler’s arm around my waist for support.

“Why haven’t you mentioned any of this?”

“I was trying to ignore it. I thought it was just my hormones messing with me because it doesn’t make sense to be so scared of something I want so badly.” I feel tears leak down my cheeks as I try to reach for my clothes.

Chandler’s arms wrap around me from behind, the only way we can get close nowadays. “If it helps at all, I’m scared, too. A lot has happened in the last year. A lot of stuff has changed. But you know what’s still the same?”

“What’s that?”

“You and your incredible strength. _You_ can do anything. You’re Supermom and you’re incredible.”

“I don’t feel that incredible _or_ that super.”

“Well, I’ll just have to keep reminding you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever know, and if there’s anyone who can kick child birth’s ass, it’s you. And I _will_ be there to hold your hand through every single moment of it. We’ll do it like we do everything else—together.”

“You’re the best husband in the world. I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible to you lately.”

“You haven’t been horrible. I’ve just been worried about you. Anytime you feel scared or upset, please just tell me. I may not be able to help, but at least I can try.”

I nod and squeeze his arms for a moment before he lets me go so I can get dressed. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“You have an actual person growing inside of you right now. I think you’re allowed to have a few moments from time to time.”

He braces my back while I pull on my pants, holding out my shirt for when I’m ready. I don’t know what I did to deserve this guy, or why he insists that I’m wonderful when I can be a world-class bitch. All I know is that he loves me and our family with his whole heart, and I really think that nothing could ever change that.

The baby kicks against my stomach and I realize my heart is pounding as I think about Chandler. I smile and take his hand in mine, placing it over the baby.

“Because of you,” I whisper. “Because of you.”


	22. Chapter 22

“This is the life, man.”

I look over at Joey, amused, as he stretches out on one of the Adirondack chairs on our back porch. “Really? The suburbs are the life? Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Hey. Just because I didn’t want you guys to move out here doesn’t mean it’s not pretty.” He shuffles his foot for a moment, avoiding my eyes. “And I think it’s much more ‘Chandler and Monica’ than the apartment ever was.”

The corner of my mouth turns up in a smile. “Thanks, Joe. It means a lot that you’d say that.”

He takes a sip of his lemonade and makes a face at me. “Though the fact that we’re drinking _this_ on your back porch instead of beer…”

I shrug, not concerned. “Monica can’t drink it, so I’m not drinking it. And if neither of us are drinking it, there’s no point in keeping it in the house. You’re welcome to go to the store and get your own if you want.”

Joey snorts and takes another sip of his lemonade, making no face this time. He looks over his shoulder at the house for a moment. “Hey, how’s Monica’ doing?” he asks softly.

“She’s pregnant, not an axe-murderer. You can ask her yourself, you know.”

“I know, it’s just…” He lowers his voice even further, and I lean forward to hear him. “I remember how cranky Phoebe and Rachel were when they were this pregnant, and I don’t want to set her off.”

“I don’t think she’s anywhere near as bad as those two were. She has moments, but she has a person growing inside of her, so I think she has every right to get cranky from time to time. I just try to hold her hand and let her know that I’m here for her.”

“You guys are sick, man. Can’t you just have a normal relationship?”

That actually makes me laugh. “’Normal’? You mean the kind of relationship other people have where they blame each other for everything, never talk about their problems, turn hostile and bitter toward each other, don’t trust each other, and wind up breaking up all because they didn’t try to just love each other? Gee—where can I sign up?”

Joey throws his hands up in surrender. “Ex_cuse_ me. I forgot you two have the perfect marriage.”

I roll my eyes. “Our marriage isn’t _perfect_.” Joey gives me a look, and I stop to consider it. True—nothing is perfect, and I’d hate to jinx it, but I think what Monica and I have is about as close to perfect as a relationship could be. We love each other. We always have. We’ve always been able to talk to each other, and even when we have spots where we don’t, we don’t let situations fester to the boiling point. We just love being around each other—and, again, we always have. Even when we were just friends, she was usually the person I could talk to about whatever was bothering me, the one who could cheer me up, and vice versa. A grin spreads across my face as I look up at Joey. “But it’s pretty damn close, isn’t it?”

“Look who’s up!” I turn to the back door when I hear Monica’s voice, and smile when I see that she has each twin by the hand, both slowly toddling with their mother. I hop up to open the screen door for her and she gently steers the kids outside.

A look of wonder and delight spreads over Joey’s face. “Oh, my God! Look at you two! Jack, when did you learn how to walk?”

“A few weeks after their birthday,” Monica answers as I close the door behind her, leaning over to kiss her temple. “We think he got tired of watching Erica do it, so one day he just pulled himself up and started walking. Barely stumbled. Erica’s still a little faster than he is, but he doesn’t seem too worried.” She lets go of their hands and kneels down next to them. “Can you say hi to your uncle Joey?”

The words have barely left Monica’s mouth before Erica hustles as quickly as she can across the porch to her uncle. If possible, Joey’s smile gets wider and he holds out his hands to her, scooping her up as she reaches him. “How’s my little Erica Jo?”

“Hi!” she exclaims happily as he settles her on his lap.

Joey gasps, looking at us in excitement. “She talks now?”

“They both do, actually,” I tell him, taking hold of Monica’s arm to help her stand. I hold out my hand for Jack, who suddenly looks shy. “Come here, buddy.” He takes my hand and I lead him over to Joey.

“They’re both growing so much,” Monica adds. “You really don’t see them enough, Joey.”

“I know, I know.” He looks appropriately irritated with himself as he pulls Erica in for a hug. “I’m just back and forth across the country so much now…”

“We’re happy for you,” I tell him. “Seriously—you’ve waited a long time to get this much work. We just miss you.” I pick up Jack and put him on Joey’s lap, and Joey draws him in for a hug as well.

“How’s Jack doin’?” he asks my son, who giggles as he gets tickled by his uncle. “I miss you guys, too. So much. Nothing’s the same without you across the hall.”

Monica holds her hand out behind her, her hand landing on the arm of one of the patio chairs. I grab her other arm, easing her into a seated position; she smiles up at me gratefully. “Need anything?” I ask, stroking her hair away from her face.

She thinks about it for a moment before shaking her head. “Unless you can move my bladder, I’m good.” She looks over at Joey and shrugs. “The baby is constantly pressed on my bladder now, so I always feel like I have to pee.”

Joey wrinkles his nose. “Fun.”

She shrugs. “Eh. Could be worse.”

“How?”

Monica raises an eyebrow and glances over at me; I shrug and sit down on the arm of her chair. “You got me there, Joe.”

Jack twists his body to face us, his arms reaching out. “Mama.”

Joey’s eyes grow wide, and he practically bounces with excitement. “Oh, my God! He can say ‘mama’?”

As of yet, neither of us have grown tired of hearing our babies speak; it still makes my heart melt. “They both can,” I tell him. “But it was Jack’s first word.”

Jack’s little face scrunches up, and he strains against Joey’s arm. “Mama!”

Joey moves to stand up, but Monica shakes her head at him. “Just put him down. He needs to learn that he can’t always be carried.”

He looks impressed at Monica’s willpower and sets Jack on the porch. Jack pauses for a moment before collapsing to his knees and crawling over to us. A moment later, he’s hauling himself up on Monica’s leg, reaching for her. “Mama?” His little voice sounds so distressed. I don’t understand how she’s not melting into a puddle of goo.

Instead, she holds out her hands over the arm of her chair. “Over here, Jack.” He whines a little, but Monica waits. Finally, he caves and edges over to her waiting hands. With more ease than one would expect from a woman as far along in her pregnancy as she is, she pulls him up, resting him on her stomach. Immediately, he buries his head in her neck, his hand fisting into her hair.

“Is he okay?” Joey asks, concerned. “I didn’t scare him, did I?”

“No, he’s okay,” she answers, stroking his back gently. “You always get grumpy when you wake up from a nap, don’t you, Jack?”

I reach over and smooth down his soft hair. “Erica can pop right up out of bed, ready to go. She hardly naps most of the time; we still make her lie down and hope for the best, but she’s like the Energizer Bunny. Jack’s more like…a diesel engine. It can take him a while to get warmed up, but once he does, he can run for a long time.”

“But he likes to sort of cuddle himself awake. He’ll be good to go in a few minutes.”

Erica suddenly blows a raspberry, spraying all over Joey’s face. Joey looks at her, pretending to be shocked, and Erica giggles wildly. “Oh, really?” he asks her, tickling her sides. “Oh, really!”

“If you make her pee all over the place,” I warn him, “_you_ get to clean it up.”

Joey’s head perks up at that, the tickles slowing. “How about we just sit here and talk, then?” He pulls Erica against his chest, though she refuses to sit. She’s nosy and needs to be part of the action. “So what else can they say?”

“Well, Erica can say ‘mama’ and ‘dada.’ She says ‘hi,’ as you now know. She says—”

Monica pokes my leg, stopping me. “We don’t count those as words, remember? If you get her started with either of those right now, I will kill you.”

“What words?” Joey asks, confused.

“Well, the one you’ve been hearing her say for months, which is adorable but once she starts in on it, it never ends. The other one is…the opposite of ‘yes’.”

Fortunately, Joey catches on quickly for once. “Gotcha.” He gives her a little jostle and she starts to make a little “ahhh” noise that goes up and down as she does. “What else does Jack say?”

“He’s big on ‘mama’—”

“Can’t blame him there,” Joey interrupts, winking at Monica. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, and Jack’s head perks at up at the sound of his name.

I give Joey a look, even though I’m pretty sure he’s just kidding. “_Anyway_, he also says ‘bye,’ and he’s started saying ‘nana,’ though we’re pretty sure he means ‘banana’ and not his grandmother.”

“No ‘dada’?”

Monica pats my arm sympathetically and answers for me. “Not yet. I’m pretty sure he’s holding out on purpose. It’s like everything else Jack does—we know he could do it if he wanted to, it’s just a matter of him deciding it’s the right time. _I think_ he’s saving it for a special occasion. Father’s Day is coming up, after all.”

Joey turns Erica in his lap so she’s facing him. She reaches out with both hands, patting his face. “Erica—can you say ‘Joey’?”

She leans her face in close to him, grinning. “Eeeee.”

“_Jo_ey.”

“Dohboo.”

“_Joey._”

“Ahhhbah.”

“She really loves you,” Monica says suddenly.

“Of course she does; she’s named after me, isn’t she?”

I look down at my wife and see her smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

“Hey, I don’t know if I ever really said it, but thank you for that. It really means a lot to me.”

I give Monica’s shoulders a little squeeze as she leans her head against my side. “Well, _you_ mean a lot to us, man. You covered for us for all those months, you officiated our wedding; the least we could do was help pass along your family name.”

Joey smiles at us and stands, swooping our daughter through the air in slow, gentle arcs. Jack perks up, watching his sister and uncle with great interest.

“That’s Jack’s favorite game, Uncle Joey,” Monica says, turning Jack so he can watch more easily. He leans forward and claps his hands, eyes wide with interest.

“Don’t you worry, big guy. You’re next.” He twirls Erica around a bit more, Monica cringing most of the time. She knows the kids like it, and she trusts me not to hurt them, but she just isn’t particularly fond of watching it. “Coming in for a landing!” He hurries over to me, passing off my laughing daughter. He turns to Jack, who’s already holding his arms out.

“You’re too easy, sweetie,” Monica tells him, kissing his head, before handing him off to Joey. Jack laughs as he gets his turn swooping around in circles, and she just shakes her head. I see Erica scrunch up her face as she bounces up and down, stretching out a hand and whining, eager for another turn. Monica gives me a look, already knowing I’m about to cave in to Erica’s demands and take her for another ride.

I settle for tapping my leg up and down, jostling Erica; she’s considerably less than amused. “Mommy’s right, Erica. You’ve had your turn.”

Joey stops swooping Jack, shaking his head as he sits down. “Your uncle Joey’s gonna throw up, Jack.”

“You okay over there, Joe?”

He shakes his head again and smiles at my son. “That was fun, wasn’t it Jack?”

Jack smiles at him, a spit bubble popping out of his mouth, before he flings himself forward, pressing his forehead against Joey’s chest, and Joey wraps his arms around the baby, hugging him. “Aww, your kids are so _cute_. I can’t wait to meet the next one.”

“You _are_ going to be able to stay local when it’s closer to my due date, right, Joey? Because we really want you to be able to meet the baby when it’s born.” Monica rubs her belly, frowning a little.

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it. I already told _Days_ that I’d need a little bit of time then.” He rubs Jack’s back for a minute before asking, “How you been feeling, Mon?”

“Tired. Cranky. Hormonal. But on the whole, I feel really good. The baby is healthy, I’m healthy, that’s all that really matters.”

“Does the baby kick you a lot?”

“Not as much anymore. It moves around a lot, trying to get comfortable, but it spends most of its time sleeping for now.”

Joey nods in approval. “My kind of baby. Ooooh!” He stands up suddenly, passing Jack off to Monica before heading into the house. “I’ve got something for them!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Joey, you didn’t have to do that,” I answer, getting nothing in response. I sigh and lift Erica, turning her to face me. “Your uncle is a silly guy, isn’t he?”

Her hand stretches out to me, landing on my nose. “Dada.”

“Yes, baby girl. I’m Dada.” I kiss her forehead, looking at Monica out of the corner of my eye. I can see her smiling. It definitely hasn’t gotten old hearing them talk.

Joey appears in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear, a gift bag in his hand. “Look what I got!” He plants himself on the deck at our feet, opening the bag and pulling out two tiny stuffed penguins. “Mini Hugsies!”

“Awwww,” Monica exclaims. “Where did you get those?”

“Oh, I can’t say. But aren’t they great? Look, look!” He holds up one penguin, turning it around in a slow circle. “They’re baby-proof! There’s no buttons, the scarf is built into Hugsy, it’s all safe.”

Jack’s hands reach out for the toy; Joey passes it off and the beak immediately goes into Jack’s mouth. He passes the other one to Erica, who grabs it by the fin and shakes it around.

“This is so sweet. Thank you, Uncle Joey,” Monica says, looking back and forth between the twins, both enamored with their new toys. “They’ll thank you later.”

He reaches in the bag again, pulling out another one. “This one’s for the baby. Now, they’ll all have a little bit of their uncle Joey with them all the time.”

Monica’s eyes fill with tears and she presses her face against the back of Jack’s head. I clear my throat and reach my hand out to Joey. “Thanks, dude. This was really great of you.” He reaches his hand out to me and we wiggle our fingers against each other for a second.

“As long as they know big Hugsy is off limits, there’ll be no problem.”

Monica scoffs and sniffles at the same time, shaking her head. “You got it, Joey.”


	23. Chapter 23

I blink my eyes sleepily, our bedroom bathed in the soft, early light of a summer morning. Chandler’s chest is pressed against the bare skin of my back, his arms wrapped tightly around me, resting just on top of my huge belly.

Sleeping has been no easy task lately; sleeping for longer than a couple of hours at a stretch has been even trickier. Lucky for me, the most comfortable position I’ve found has been to sleep on my side with a pillow tucked between my knees, another one under my stomach, and Chandler curled up behind me.

Overall, I’d say it could be worse.

Chandler doesn’t seem to mind it, either, though he’s always been cuddly during sleep. Interesting, considering he, apparently, used to be a fan of the “tuck-and-roll” method. I told him early on in our relationship that if he needed his space when sleeping to let me know—I would have rather known at that point than get used to wrapping myself around him at night only to find out that it bothered him—but he’s never had a problem with it. If I don’t wake up wrapped around him it’s only because he’s wrapped around me.

Even better is that we’ve started sleeping completely naked. Being thirty-five weeks pregnant in June has done me no favors; I’m hot all the time, and with just over a month to go, it’s only going to get worse. Since I seem to get the sweatiest in my sleep, I cut out the middle man and just sleep nude. To be honest, it feels pretty fantastic. I don’t feel like clothes are being caught up and twisted all the time around my bloated body, and it’s significantly cooler to sleep this way.

Plus, in an act of solidarity, so he likes to say, Chandler’s been sleeping naked, too. It’s been a while since we slept this way regularly, and I’d forgotten how nice it feels. There’s nothing quite like skin-to-skin contact, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to wearing pajamas in another month.

This has also made my life much easier for those moments I decide that I absolutely _must_ have my husband. Chandler’s been wonderfully accommodating about that, as well; middle of the night, middle of the afternoon, whenever, if I ask him for sex, he’s ready and willing.

It’s hard to believe that just a few weeks ago I felt so completely undesirable; if I’d just taken a few minutes to pay attention to the way he looks at me, I would have known this wasn’t the case—not even a little bit. I don’t know what it is exactly about my pregnant body that turns him on so, but he can’t seem to get enough of it. He’s endlessly fascinated by the changes in me, and how I can look one way one day, and look totally different a day or two later. I keep telling him it’s because the baby is growing so quickly now, but he insists that it’s something about me, too.

I’ve been pretty amazed that my need for him hasn’t really decreased at all this entire time. Even when I was completely bogged down with morning sickness I wanted him. I may not have been able to do anything about it, but I wanted him. Sometimes it’s been to the point of insanity, or at least it feels like it. My body feels like it’s constantly on fire or electrified and I actually crave his touch. I just need him all the time. It’s not just that I’m horny, though, because I don’t look at some guy I pass on the street and want to jump his bones; it’s only Chandler that I want, that I need.

I think that part helps to turn him on even more.

Fortunately, my doctor said it’s perfectly fine if we have sex pretty much up until my water breaks as long as it’s still comfortable for me.

I shift my hips back against Chandler’s a bit—thinking about sex while pressed against his bare flesh has actually made my heart start to race. Even though he’s still sleeping, I can feel his body stir against me, slowly coming to life, and I can’t help but feel a bit smug. So what if it’s a guy’s normal morning reaction? I can let myself believe it’s because of what I do to him.

I push my hips against him a little more insistently, hoping his subconscious will clue him in to what’s going on in the real world. He mumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening around me as he kisses my shoulder. I carefully lift my leg and drape it over his, rubbing his calf with my foot, his morning erection coming into contact with me, and I shudder, thrusting my hips a bit more. Sex isn’t easy in this position, but at this point, it isn’t terribly easy in any position. We try like hell to make it work, though.

“And a good morning to you, too,” he says suddenly, his voice scratchy with sleep. “How are we feeling?”

I rub myself against him, squeezing his fingers. “Antsy. You?”

He laughs a little, and I can feel it rumble through his chest. “Ready to start the day.” He kisses my shoulder, the back of my neck, and I feel him poke his head up. I turn my head and see him smiling down at me. I lift my head up a little to reach him; he kisses me gently, his hips slowly moving against mine. He untangles a hand from our grasp and slides it slowly down my side, taking a few moments to stroke my belly before resuming its path down to my hip. He reaches my thigh and grasps me firmly, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of my inner leg. I moan and gasp simultaneously; just this is nearly able to send me over the edge.

His fingers move up a little, dancing across me, and I tear my lips from his. “Ohhhh. Ohhhhhh, God.”

He moves his fingers against me more firmly; I can hear him breathing heavily in my ear, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t turn me on even more.

“Now,” I moan. “Oh, please now.” I bring my hand down, reaching for him, helping to guide him into me, sighing with relief when he finally is. His fingers move back to my thigh, digging into me as he pauses for a moment. I swallow heavily, waiting for him.

“You feel more amazing every day,” he whispers into my ear, finally thrusting against me slowly.

I thread my fingers through his at my thigh, pushing back against him as best as I can. “Chandler,” I moan.

He kisses my neck again, his lips moving up to the space behind my ear. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” I answer, gasping. It certainly doesn’t take me long these days.

He reaches down and taps my knee. “Put your leg down.” Confused, I comply, then gasp again as I can feel him even better.

“Yeahhhhhh,” I moan, turning my face into his arm, my knees curling up slightly. I feel his leg shift so that it’s now on top of mine and I think I’m going to cry it feels so good. I push my hips against his again, straining for more contact.

He puts his hand on my hip, stilling my motions. “Let me do the work,” he murmurs. “You just lay back and enjoy it.”

His hips start to move more insistently. “Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes,” I moan with every thrust, every time he makes contact. His hand slides up me again, massaging my breasts tenderly, somehow knowing without me ever saying to be gentle.

My hand reaches out, gripping the edge of the mattress, helping me bend in half just a little more before my belly gets in the way.

He shifts his position suddenly, lifting up a little as he slides his arm out from under me, leaning over me. His leg stays put, but I feel the angle inside of me change, hitting a whole new spot. I let out a noise that sounds like a sob and he stills.

“You okay?” he gasps, his fingers clutching my hip as he struggles to control himself.

I reach my hand back, digging my fingers into his ass, trying to pull him closer. “Don’t stop,” I command, and he instantly returns to action. His hips slam into me for a few moments and I cry out, grabbing at him, the mattress, anything I can. I’m sure he must be almost done when he comes to a complete stop and leans over me, kissing me frantically. He slides his hand between my legs again, rubbing me vigorously, and my entire body starts to crackle. I moan into his mouth. “Uhhh. Uhhh. Uhhh. Uhhh. Uhhh.”

His lips leave mine and I feel him shift again; I look over my shoulder and see that he’s on his knees behind me. He braces his hands on my leg for a moment before leaning forward, placing his hands on the mattress in front of me, his hips resuming their frantic motions. He looks over at me and grins, beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

God, he’s hot.

“This is new,” I moan as he drives into me.

“Is it okay?” he grunts.

“So very much.”

He slams against me and I cry out, my hand scrambling against his back, desperate for purchase. Out of nowhere, my body explodes, millions of tiny white stars flashing behind my eyelids, and I feel a scream tear out of my throat; I turn my head and bury my face in the pillow, hoping to muffle myself at least a little, trying not to wake the twins. “YES! OH, GOD YES!”

His body jerks against me and tenses for a moment as he practically growls, “Monica!” His hips pound into me for a few more moments as he releases himself. I’m still going, my hips pushing against him, and he moves his hand to my pelvis once more. I grind myself against him a few more times, feeling another orgasm tear through me before my body finally comes to a halt, shaking.

He gasps and flops down next to me, his head at my feet. He wraps his arms around my knees and kisses my ankle. “God, I love waking up like this.”

I laugh a little, words beyond me right now, and nod in agreement.

“Pregnant sex is pretty great,” he adds.

“Yeah, it is,” I finally groan, and it truly is. The only thing I miss is being able to have him on top of me, but I know it will only be a few months before we can do that again.

I feel the baby stretch inside of me, its knees and elbows digging into me as it readjusts its position. “Baby Bing is awake,” I tell Chandler, and his shaky hand comes up and rubs the side of my stomach.

“Hi, Baby,” he mumbles. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, as usual. She’s just taking up a lot of space inside Mommy right now.” The baby shifts again and my eyes open wide as it presses against my bladder. “Emergency,” I say as I move my legs over the side of the bed, struggling to sit up.

“Need help?” Chandler asks, and I have to laugh a little; he’s still sprawled on his side, looking like a pile of goo.

“I think you’re worse off than I am,” I tell him, finally standing, shuffling toward the bathroom as quickly as I can.

This is definitely one of the less romantic sides to pregnancy, one that’s rarely mentioned. It’s not just that it’s the need to pee frequently and urgently at times…or all the time, but more that most of the time, you’re really not sure if you’re going to actually make it to a bathroom. It’s super fun and super sexy. Lucky for me, Chandler just takes it all in stride, never flinching or looking grossed out at the weird things my body is doing.

And I love him so much for it.

I look down at my stomach, poking it gently with a finger. “You done for now?” There’s no further movement against my bladder, so I take that as I sign that I’m finished for the moment. After washing my hands, I start to brush my teeth, startling at my reflection for just a moment. I don’t know why, but it’s always a shock to see my naked, pregnant body staring back at me, almost as if, sometimes, it’s not really me. I avert my eyes and go back to my teeth—if I start inspecting myself now, it could be a while before I stop. It’s weird but entirely fascinating, especially in a clinical sort of way.

I wander back into our bedroom, laughing to see Chandler still sprawled on his side, looking blissful and tired. I grab my pajama pants from the foot of the bed and sit down, tugging them awkwardly up my legs. “Don’t you need to get up and start getting ready for work?”

He groans in disappointment and rolls over, burying his face in the mattress. “Aw, Monica. Do I have to? Can’t we just stay in bed and make love all day?”

I reach back and rub his hair affectionately. “I don’t think your boss would appreciate that.”

“It’s not fair for you to do things like this to me before work,” he teases, scooting forward until his lips land on my hip, tracing slowly up my back, and I feel goosebumps breakout all over my flesh. Trying to ignore him, I grab my t-shirt and pull it over me, though it still doesn’t manage to cover the entire belly.

“Go take a shower,” I tell him.

“Wanna join me?” His lips move to the back of my neck and I tilt my head to one side, despite myself.

“_That_ seems like an effective use of your time. But, I don’t think any form of shower sex is the best idea at this point in the pregnancy,” I remind him, and I feel him hum against me in agreement. “I’m gonna go get Jack and Erica.”

He kisses my neck one last time before heaving himself off the bed. “Okay. Let me brush my teeth and I’ll be right there.”

“Just go ahead and shower,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine with diaper duty, and we’ll wait for you to come downstairs.”

“Sounds good,” he tells me over his shoulder, the bathroom door mostly shutting behind him, and I waddle down the hall and into the nursery, pulling the baby gate shut behind me. Erica’s already standing up, holding onto the rails of her crib, grinning at me.

“Mama,” she says to me in her tiny, sing-song voice.

“Erica,” I answer, using the same lilting tone. “How’s my beautiful little girl this morning?” I gently take the sides of her face in my hands and kiss the top of her head. “I love you.” I look in on Jack, expecting him to still be sound asleep. He’s still smooshed against the mattress, but he’s peaking up me out of the corner of his eye, smiling at me. I lean over the edge of the crib and rub his back gently. “Good morning, sleepy boy. I love you, too.” With surprising speed, he grabs the rails of his crib and pulls himself into a standing position; he tilts his head a little, his lips pursing a bit, so I plant a kiss on him, making him giggle.

I love these two babies so much it hurts.

“Okay—who’s first?” I look back and forth between them; Jack yawns and rubs his face, Erica bounces up and down. “All right, pee-pee pants,” I tell her, pulling her out first. “Let’s get you changed.”

I put her down on the changing table, unsnapping her pajamas as she tries to wiggle away from me. “Oh, no you don’t. You’ll have plenty of time for that in a minute; you need to be clean and dry first.” I change her diaper—no easy feat when she won’t stop squirming—then put her on the floor so she can roam around. “All right, nature child—be free.” I turn back to the cribs and Jack grins at me again, and my eyes inadvertently fill with tears. These two are really spectacular.

“Come here, little guy.” I pick him up and groan. “Oof. Not-so-little guy. What are you doing in your sleep, Jack—body building?” His hand reaches out for my cheek, so I turn my face and kiss his palm; his eyes light up. Seriously—they’re killing me today with this sort of cuteness.

“Mama,” he tells me as I put him on the changing table, pulling off his clothes with much more ease.

“Yes, dear? Did you need to tell me something?”

He just claps his hands as I pull off the dirty diaper, and only starts to wiggle as I put on a new one. “I know.” I tell him. “You like to be naked, too. But anyone with the sort of equipment you have needs to be kept under wraps for a while.” We’ve learned the hard way that Jack, if left uncovered for just a moment too long, has the ability to hit a painting on a wall across the room. It’s pretty impressive and completely hilarious.

“Good morning, munchkins,” Chandler says, stepping over the baby gate with ease.

“Show off,” I mumble good-naturedly as I put Jack into a standing position on the changing table, keeping one hand on his back and one on his belly. Stepping over anything that high is definitely beyond me right now.

Erica looks up from her position on the floor, her arms stretching up as a smile lights up her face. “Dada!”

“Good morning, sweet cheeks,” he tells her, scooping her off the floor and swinging her through the air for just a second before pulling her against his side, kissing her round little face.

“Dada,” Jack echoes and my eyes grow wide. Chandler just smiles at Jack, coming over to kiss his cheek, too.

“Good morning, Jack Attack. How are you—” Chandler stops, his eyes growing wide, too, as he realizes that it’s the first time our son has said that. “Jack…did you…you just…” His eyes start to water; hearing our babies learn to speak has just as much of an effect on my husband as it does on me. He scoops Jack into his arms as well, doing his happy dance. I roll my eyes even as I laugh—all these years and he still does the same goofy dance. “You’ve just made your old man so happy,” he tells Jack. “Wait ‘til I tell everyone at work that you finally said ‘dada’.”

“Dada,” he says again, his voice so tiny, but so sure. I knew he’d say it in his own time, when he was good and ready for it. This will keep Chandler going for hours; I’m sure he’ll call as often as he can just to hear our little boy ask for his “dada.”

“Uhh…” He clears his throat and tries again. “You want to get them dressed up here or…?”

I shake my head, pulling their clothes out of their little dresser. “Breakfast first; they’re much easier to wipe down like this.”

He nods, distracted, and I reach for Erica, figuring he’ll want to try to coax another “dada” out of Jack on the way to the kitchen. Chandler unlocks the baby gate for me, and I feel the baby poke at me again, almost as if it’s trying to remind that it’s there, to not forget about it.

Like that could happen.

I follow Chandler downstairs; he glances over his shoulder at me every few steps to make sure I’m okay, and I appreciate the concern. Stairs are becoming more challenging by the day, especially with an armful of baby, but so far I’ve been managing.

He puts Jack in his high chair, then takes Erica from me, buckling her in as well as I set about getting their breakfast stuff ready. Chandler’s arms slide around me, hugging me from behind. “Our kids are pretty perfect, aren’t they?”

I nod, leaning into him for just a second. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

I don’t want to say it, because it sounds arrogant, but so is our life.

It’s perfect.


	24. Chapter 24

The beach is pretty crowded today.

Though, considering it’s the Fourth of July, that’s not terribly surprising.

It’s hard to believe that just a year ago, Monica and I were here with our two and a half month old infants, these two teeny tiny babies who we were just getting to know, who were just getting to know us. Now…hell, they’re fourteen months old. They can walk, they can talk—somewhat—they can certainly communicate their thoughts and feelings to us. They have teeth and can eat real food. They have become these amazing little people, each with their own personality, each with their own gifts and talents and abilities.

Where did the time go?

Just a year ago today was the first time Monica and I talked about adopting more kids. A couple of months later, she was pregnant. Unexpectedly, wonderfully pregnant.

The life I used to have is so far removed from where I am today that it’s almost unrecognizable. The time of my life that I _didn’t_ belong to Monica doesn’t seem to matter anymore. It’s almost hard to remember that point in my life because, in retrospect, it seems bleak by comparison. Sometimes I have a hard time imagining my life before becoming a parent—these little people have given such meaning to my life, have given me so much purpose. I never thought I’d be one of those people who thought life didn’t truly begin until I had kids but—surprise!—it turns out that I am.

Maybe that’s not entirely true. My life didn’t really begin until Monica and I fell in love, or at least when we started to fall in love, which I think was probably a long time before we started dating, at least in little ways.

I look over at my wife who’s sitting on a beach chair, a pillow cushioning her back, dark sunglasses covering her eyes as she watches the twins play. I know she’s wildly uncomfortable now, but I can’t help but love the way she looks. Pregnancy looks good on her. And at thirty-seven weeks along, she’s lost all sense of what she considers propriety and walks around most days with her belly hanging out, and not a lot of clothing anywhere else. In a nod to her parents and being out in public, she’s actually wearing a skirt today, though how it’s staying up at all is a mystery to me, but other than that, just a bathing suit top. Even though we’re sitting under an umbrella, she’s slathered her belly in sunscreen; I can only imagine what a stretching stomach combined with burned skin would feel like.

I reach over and stroke her stomach gently, and she looks at me for half a second, smiling, before turning her attention back to Jack and Erica. She looks tired but absolutely radiant.

When her parents invited us to the beach for the holiday again, we were both a little nervous about coming out here so close to her due date. Ultimately, we didn’t want to deprive the kids of this sort of family gathering, even if they won’t really remember it. Also, it’s probably going to be our last chance to do anything as just the four of us. At this point, though, the bump is truly its own entity, and even though Monica’s still carrying it around, it’s most definitely family member number five. And if worse comes to worse, it’s not as if there aren’t hospitals at the beach, and if the baby comes early, it’s only going to be marginally so.

I can’t believe she’s this close to giving birth already. Seriously—where did the time go?

Her fingers link through mine, almost as if she knows what I’m thinking, which wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest by this point.

Jack and Erica are sitting in the sand, each wearing silly little bucket hats to protect their faces from the sun. They’re surrounded by beach toys and buckets and anything else a one-year-old could want to play with. Emma’s squatting in between them, basically playing “Mommy” and trying to be helpful to them, though it’s coming across more as bossy. But, she’s three, so that happens. Somewhat surprisingly, Ben’s is being extraordinarily helpful in not only watching his sister, but his cousins as well. He’s very attentive and kind and a lot more patient than most ten-year-olds have a right to be.

“I love them so much,” she whispers suddenly and I give her fingers a little squeeze.

“I know. Our kids are pretty great.”

She nods, her free hand absently stroking her swollen belly, and I know that she’s ready to not be pregnant anymore. She hasn’t really said anything, because I know she thinks that would looking a gift-horse in the mouth, but I know she’s just ready to meet our baby.

I think knowing that it could literally be any time between now and the next three or four weeks is what’s really making us both anxious.

Plus, we still haven’t decided on a name.

With Jack and Erica, it wound up being pretty simple. Even before we knew we were going to adopt, we’d been kicking around name ideas, and one of us brought up Jack, after her father, and it sort of stuck, even though we didn’t tell anyone about it. The more we thought about it, the more we liked it. Erica was a little trickier because we couldn’t find a girl’s name that we both liked or that meant something to us. Until, of course, we met the birth mother. After that, naming a daughter after her just made sense. Naturally, we had the opposite problem for their middle names; Josephine came to us both easily, and was even a first name we considered until we realized that naming a child directly after just one of our friends would cause some trouble. As it is, having it as her middle name had everyone a little miffed at first. When Monica suggested “Hemingway” as Jack’s middle name, I thought she was screwing with me, making fun of me for wanting it as our son’s first name, but, as I found out, she really quite enjoys it. She likes the idea of our kids having conventional first names and middle names that are little less run-of-the-mill.

But still…we _knew_ we’d pick _one_ of those names for the baby. As it turned out, we were able to use both. This one, though…it’s been damn near impossible to settle on even a relatively short list. I think the only thing we _have_ been able to decide on is that we’ll give this kid’s name its own letter—no name that starts with a “C,” an “M,” a “J,” or an “E.” At least that narrows it down a little.

“Are you sure don’t want to use Daniel?” I ask her suddenly, and I see her eyebrow quirk in my direction.

“Honey, do _you_ want to use Daniel?”

I shrug. “I just thought if we could agree on a boy’s name, maybe we’ll have an easier time with a girl’s name. And you picked out that name such a long time ago and you wanted to use it for so long…”

“Chandler…” she says, squeezing my hand. “I appreciate the gesture, but I _did_ pick out those names a long time ago when I was a kid and nowhere near being married and actually having a child of my own. I never thought about the actual process of naming a child in real life, or that I might want my husband’s input on it. It’s a nice name, but I want us to find a name together. But if Daniel is the name we pick, that’s okay, too.”

I shrug noncommittally. “I don’t know; Daniel always reminds me of that guy Dan you almost went out with.”

She looks at me for a moment, confused. “What guy Dan?”

“Remember that nurse guy Rachel tried to set you up with?”

She shakes her head slowly, watching the kids play. “Can’t say as I do.”

“Oh, come on. Phoebe was having the triplets, Rachel met those nurses who wanted to take you two out, I was an idiot and tried to make you think I was cool with it…”

She bursts out laughing. “I completely forgot about that guy! His name was Dan?” I suppose it’s reassuring to know that guy had no impact on my wife whatsoever. “You know I was never going to go out with that guy, right? I mean, I was already crazy about _you_. I didn’t want to date someone else.”

“You know, I know it’s been a million years since that happened, but it’s still a relief to know that I didn’t almost push you away then.”

“You could try,” she tells me, bringing my hand to her lips, kissing my wedding band, “but you’ll never succeed.”

I smile, and we’re silent for a while, watching our children and their cousins play on the beach, Jack and Erica not really sure what to do beyond grasping tiny handfuls of sand and moving them from one location to another.

“This is really hard,” I tell her, sighing.

“I know. There’s a lot of pressure, trying to find the right name and all. This is something our kid is going to have to live with for the rest of his or her life. I want it to be good.”

“Yeah. We don’t want another ‘Chandler’ on our hands.”

“I happen to like ‘Chandler’,” she tells me defensively. “In fact, I’m quite partial to it.”

“You would,” I tease. “I like it when you say it, though. Sounds nice coming from you.”

At that moment we hear Phoebe and Mike’s voices coming at us; I turn and see them strolling down the beach, Mike’s arm wrapped around Phoebe’s waist, the wind pulling her dress against her pregnant stomach—even though she’s about five and a half months along, she barely looks it. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re tall and the baby has all kinds of room to stretch out.

Monica and Phoebe have been spending a lot of time together the last couple of months—I think they really like that they can go through this together, but I think it’s been making Rachel a little jealous. I could be wrong about this, because it’s been known to happen, but I would swear she’s been trying to drop hints to Ross about having another one.

“Hey guys,” Monica says as the couple arrives in front of us. “Good walk?”

“Yeah! This place is awesome. Remind me to thank your parents again for inviting us,” Phoebe says as she and Mike settle down onto the sand.

“Sure thing,” she answers, chuckling. We were both a little surprised when Monica’s parents told us to extend the invitation to Phoebe and Mike, but Monica thinks the idea of a pregnant Phoebe was too interesting for them to pass up—they wanted to see it with their own eyes.

From what we’ve seen, though, Phoebe hasn’t been much different than usual, though I think we’d all say she’s much happier with her pregnancy this time than with the triplets. I’m guessing it’s the combination of only having one and being able to keep the baby this time.

I notice Mike giving my wife an odd look, but before I can question him, he speaks up. “Hey, Monica; your stomach is…twitching.”

We all look over at her as she shrugs. “Hiccups. The kid just can’t hold its amniotic fluid.”

Mike makes a face and looks at Phoebe’s stomach for a second. “Hiccups? They can do that?”

I can’t help but chuckle as Phoebe tries to explain the phenomenon to her husband—I reacted the exact same way. Now the baby does it so often that I don’t even think about it much. I’m sure Monica does, though—it’s probably tough to _not_ notice a baby bouncing up and down inside of you.

I look over at the group of kids—I’m still amazed that Ben is basically handling three little people on his own, though I’d bet if it was pointed out to him, he’d become hyperaware and freak out. He’s good with them, though. It’s pretty cute to watch.

“Where are Ross and Rachel?” Phoebe asks, leaning back in the sand, stretching out.

“At the house,” Monica answers. “Ross is helping Dad get stuff ready for the cookout tonight, and Rachel is…probably avoiding helping.”

“And they left the pregnant woman and her husband in charge of their kids?”

I look over at Monica and raise an eyebrow; she gives me the same look. Neither of us had thought about it that way.

Erica screeches a moment later, instantly followed by tears. Our heads whip over to the kids—Ben looks horrified and Emma looks startled. Jack is steadily scooping up sand and dropping it into a bucket.

“I’m sorry!” Ben exclaims. “I—I don’t know…”

I just shake my head at him. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything.”

Erica’s sobs grow louder and her hand flops against Jack, hitting his arm. Jack, in response, flings the sand into the bucket; Erica yells in outrage.

“Erica, don’t hit,” Monica says as I ask, “Is that Erica’s bucket Jack’s filling with sand?”

Ben looks back and forth between them for a moment before nodding. “I think so. Uncle Chandler, I’m—”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him, cutting him off. “No one did anything wrong.” The last thing I want is for this kid, who was in no way in charge of watching my children, to feel guilty about Erica’s hissy fit.

“Erica, it’s okay,” Monica says, hoping that the storm will pass quickly—it usually does with Erica. Jack flings another handful of sand in the bucket and Erica cries louder, and I close my eyes for a second. Now he’s doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction out of his sister.

“Jack, don’t be mean,” I tell him, and he looks up at me, frowning, almost as if he can’t believe I would accuse him of such a thing.

“Erica, come to Mama,” Monica says, holding her arms out. Erica puts her hands in the sand, pushing herself to a standing position and toddles toward us, only making it a few steps before losing her balance on the unsteady ground and dropping to her knees. Her face is heartbreaking—her little body hitches with sobs and she holds out her arms helplessly. In a second, I’m on my feet, scooping up my daughter and holding her close. She presses her face into my shoulder, her cries only quieting marginally, her tears soaking through my shirt. I bounce her gently back and forth, kissing the side of her head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of her arms reaching out as she says, “Mama! Mama!”

I rub her back gently as Monica braces her hands on the arms of her chair, standing slowly. Erica stretches herself toward her mother, nearly pulling herself out of my arms before Monica takes her from me, pulling her against her side. “Shhhh. It’s okay. Mama’s here.” Erica buries her face in her mother’s neck, her sobs muffled, her little body still shaking. “This is why you need to nap.”

I kiss the back of my daughter’s head before sitting down once more, Monica walking off a few paces as she tries to comfort our screaming child. Jack’s looking at me with wide eyes, waiting for a reprimand of some sort. I just smile at him. “It’s okay, buddy.”

Erica basically refuses to nap nowadays; she seems to believe that her batteries never need to be recharged. Granted, she does have a lot of energy and can pretty much keep going for hours at a time. Then it hits her like this, out of the blue, set off by absolutely nothing. She and Jack don’t ordinarily have issues with sharing their toys or playing together, so when a handful of sand in the wrong bucket makes her meltdown, we know it’s time for her to sleep.

I look over at the two of them; Erica’s still crying, and I can hear Monica sort of singing to her, saying, “Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer. Count the headlights on the highway…”

Monica’s been on an Elton John kick lately; she says it soothes the baby, which might be true in that it seems to be relaxing Monica, so it’s probably helping the baby.

Phoebe and Mike are eerily quiet, almost waiting for it to be okay to speak. “Maybe the next one will prefer me,” I say, shrugging helplessly.

“Is she okay?” Mike asks tentatively.

“She’s tired. No nap plus playing in the sun makes for a cranky little baby. And when they’re tired like that, all they want is their mom. I’d be offended if it wasn’t the most adorable thing in the world.”

I look at the two of them again; Monica’s voice floats over to me for a moment. “Piano man, he makes a stand…”

I look back to see Jack standing up, stepping carefully through the sand, making his way to me. He comes up to me and pats my knee; he squats for a moment, scooping up a handful of sand, offering it out to me. “Bah?”

“Sand,” I tell him, and he looks baffled. The “s” sound is still beyond him.

“Sand,” I say again. “Sssssssssss.”

He giggles, the grains slipping through his little fingers. “Dada,” he tells me.

“I know. Words are tough. We’ll get you there.”

He puts a hand on my knee again, turning to point at his cousins. “Ben.”

I can see our friends smile widely; Monica takes a couple of steps closer, grinning. “That’s right—that’s Ben.” Ben looks up when he hears me say his name and I gesture him over. “Jack, who is this?”

“Ben,” he says again. Ben looks shocked.

“He can say my name?”

“Looks that way,” I tell him. “Good job, buddy.”

“Must mean he likes you a lot,” Monica says, grinning at our nephew. Neither of us want to add that his name is pretty close to a lot of the gibberish they’ve been speaking for months, so it probably wasn’t a big leap for him. It’s still pretty great, and now our son has another word to add to his repertoire. He’s actually aware of who someone else is, _and_ that that person has a name.

Jack holds his arms up for Ben, who picks him up happily, bringing him back to Emma and the toys. I wrap my arm around Monica’s hips, looking up at her and Erica. Erica seems to have stopped crying for the moment. “Sleeping?” I ask quietly.

She nods. “Yeah. I wish she didn’t fight sleep so much.”

I stand once more, helping Monica back to her chair. “She’s just afraid she’s going to miss something. She doesn’t think life should happen without her.”

Monica sighs as she rubs Erica’s back. “Jack has no issue with that at all.”

“He likes to sleep?” Phoebe asks and I nod.

“Always. He’ll be perfectly fine and as soon as we put him in his crib, he passes out.”

“Erica’s going to wind up learning how to exist on four hours of sleep a day, and Jack will need at least ten hours of sleep before being able to face the world,” Monica adds in.

I put my hand on Monica’s stomach again, which is still for the moment. “Then we have our wildcard here. Who knows what this one will be like?”

“So basically, you two will never sleep again,” Mike says, and I know he’s joking, but it’s probably not that far off.

Fortunately, we hear Ross’s voice at that moment. “Hey, guys. Dad said he’s going to start cooking in about an hour—” He’s cut off by Monica groaning, and he gives me a look before finishing the sentence. “So he wanted to know if you needed anything before then.”

“Yes, please,” she says, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. She’s been eating almost constantly lately; I know the baby’s still growing and she needs a lot of energy to keep going, but it’s still entertaining to watch.

“Anything in particular?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Not really. Just food.”

“Ooo, me, too!” Phoebe exclaims, standing up. “I’ll go with you!”

“Pregnant women,” Ross says, leaning down to kiss Monica’s head before he and Phoebe start walking back to the house.

“Should we put her down?” I ask Monica, gesturing to Erica.

She just shakes her head. “Couldn’t do that to her—she’ll wake up away from the action, and I don’t want to deal with that kind of wrath.”

I laugh in agreement; the only thing worse than an Erica cranky because she can’t keep her eyes open a moment longer is an Erica who knows that stuff is going on and can’t be a part of it.

Monica leans her head against Erica’s; Mike starts to hum “Tiny Dancer,” and without thinking, Monica starts to sing softly again. “Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand…”


	25. Chapter 25

“This is like a flipbook!” Ross exclaims, and I roll my eyes. To keep him occupied until Chandler gets home, I’m letting him look through the huge album we’ve compiled over the past almost year—“The Chronicles Of A Baby Bump.”

That’s actually what it says on the first page.

My husband is such a dork. I love the guy—more than I can possibly express—but he’s a huge dork.

I cross my arms over my stomach and sigh. This is the first time anyone has seen the entire album, actually. The whole thing has felt kind of personal, and for a while, it felt sort of weird to show off pictures of my stomach. Now…hell, I don’t care. The stomach can’t be contained at this point and it’s usually peeking out from under my shirt, so I really can’t bring myself to care if someone sees the pictures.

Half the time, I’m pulling up my shirt anyway for whoever wants to see it. You find that you have very little shame as you become extraordinarily pregnant. Between all the people poking and prodding and the almost complete loss of control over bodily functions, it’s hard to be modest. And considering I’m about to have a person come shooting out of me…yeah, it’s not the time to be shy.

I’m basically stuck at home these days, though considering about my due date is about three days away, I suppose that’s fair—I showed up for a shift the other day and my boss just laughed at me and sent me home, telling me that I was officially on maternity leave and to call her when I had the baby. Truthfully, I’m a little surprised that Chandler’s even managing to go into work these days. As it is, he’s only working at the office for about half the day before he comes home to work the rest of the day. He still takes Jack and Erica to daycare, which would irritate me to no end if I thought for one second I’d be able to keep up with those two little monsters on my own at this point.

Not that I’m on my own. He doesn’t realize that I’m on to him, but I know that our friends and family haven’t been just randomly dropping by to see me every day. I know that he has them on a schedule. Still, how can I complain when I know it’s coming from such a sweet, caring place? I know that it’s just in case I go into labor when he’s not home, I’ll have someone there to help me.

So, yes—he’s a dork, but he’s _my_ wonderful, sweet, loving, adorable dork.

“I can’t believe Chandler came up with this,” Ross says, turning through the pages of the album slowly.

“He’s pretty great, you know,” I tell him as I shift my weight from side to side, trying to find an angle that’s slightly less uncomfortable.

“No, I know he’s a good guy. But for Chandler Bing of all people to be this excited about having kids…”

I shrug—even _I_ can acknowledge the truth in that one to a degree. At least about the Chandler Ross knew in college, and probably even Chandler until about eight years ago. “You know, he’s changed a lot—”

Ross hurries to interrupt me, smiling. “I know he has. He’s really grown up—maybe more than any of us. And you make him happier than I’ve seen anyone be.”

I feel my eyes fill with tears even as a grin spreads across my face. I know Chandler’s happy—he knows that I’m happy. But still…it’s kind of nice to know that it’s obvious to the world around us, too.

“I mean…my best friend and my little sister.”

“You always say that,” I answer, ducking my head, running my hand across my stomach.

“I know, but…it still doesn’t feel real sometimes, you know? You two knew each other for so long, and then you just fell in love, and as weird as it was at first…you two just seemed so right. Like, you know, _that_ was what was missing that whole time.”

I nod my head, wiping a stray tear off my cheek. “I know.” It _can_ be hard to put into words sometimes how or why we work, but I think, oddly, my brother managed to hit it on the head. Chandler and I are just each other’s missing pieces. It may be hard work sometimes, but at the end of the day, we just fit. We always have.

Ross clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with his display of emotions. “So, Chandler really took all of these?”

I smile again, feeling proud. “He did. He has a real eye for it, actually. He’s picking up all kinds of stuff at work—he gets to hang out during shoots sometimes and see what photographers do and how they create shots. He really likes it.”

Ross looks pretty impressed. “I can tell. I mean, your kids are pretty cute, but he’s managed to make them look even better on film.”

I raise an eyebrow and cock my head. “My kids are only ‘pretty cute’? Really?”

Ross’s eyes widen as he realizes his mistake. “Jack and Erica are beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I remain silent for a while, watching my brother flip through the pages of the photo album. “You know, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

To his credit, Ross tries to look confused. “What are you talking about? I just wanted to come over and hang out for a while. I know I don’t _have_ to be here.”

I scrunch up my face and look at him disbelievingly. “Ross, do you really think I don’t know that you’re here babysitting me?”

“What? I’m not…fine. Chandler’s just worried about you.”

“I know he is, and I love him for it, but he’ll be home soon. I can probably manage on my own until then.”

“Sure—you probably could. But I think Chandler would actually kill me. Just humor the guy for a while.” He gestures to my huge belly. “It’s not much longer, right?”

“Literally any moment now,” I tell him, nodding. “Technically, I’m not due for another couple of days, but it could be whenever at this point.”

“I’m so happy for you guys. I don’t know if I’ve told you that lately, but…” He pauses for a second as his voice catches in his throat. “I mean, I was devastated _for_ you guys when you found out about that whole…thing. But now you have Jack and Erica, and this one’s almost here. No one deserves kids more than you and Chandler do, Mon.”

I’d like to blame my hormones for getting me choked up, but I think it’s just the fact that my brother would say that to me, that he thinks that, is pretty moving.

We’ve come a very long way from the kids who used to torture each other.

Some days. Other days, not so much.

I shift positions again, rubbing the side of my belly and sighing. “The baby doing a lot of kicking?” Ross asks, happy to have something else to focus on.

“Not really. Not anymore. It’s doing a lot of stretching, though. There’s not a whole lot of space in there at this point and the baby _really_ likes to let me know about it. Elbows and knees everywhere. Toes in my ribs, fingers in places I don’t want to talk about. It’s really the weirdest thing in the world, Ross.”

He makes a face at the mention of it all, a little grossed out even though he’s technically been through this twice. “Sounds like it. Doesn’t it hurt?”

I rub the side of my stomach again, thoughtfully. “Sometimes. If the baby’s particularly irritated for some reason, then it’ll stomp the hell out of me. Most times, though, if it hurts, it’s only for a second.”

I see a car out of the corner of my eye and turn my head, looking through the picture window. I grin when I see our SUV pulling into the driveway. I watch as Chandler plucks the kids out of their car seats, first Jack, then somehow managing to free Erica one-handed.

“What?” Ross asks, looking up from the album when he realizes I’ve been silent for a while.

“They’re home.”

Ross looks out the window, popping up when he sees Chandler’s arms full of babies and opening the front door for him. “Hey,” Ross says, giving the twins each a kiss. Chandler grins at his brother-in-law as he puts them on the floor.

“Go say hi to Mama.”

I smile at them, even as my eyes grow wide as they run at me.

Maybe run isn’t completely accurate. They can hustle, but they can’t really run. But still...looks pretty damn fast to me.

Regardless, I lean over as best I can, holding my arms out to them, a chorus of, “Mama!” greeting me before the twins ever do. I gather them into my arms and pull them as close as I can, kissing their little heads.

“Hi, sweethearts! I love you.” I’m answered by giggles as I tickle their sides.

I feel Chandler’s hand on my shoulder and I tilt my head back to see him, his lips meeting mine a moment later. “Hi, honey,” he whispers to me.

“Hi. You’re home later than usual.”

“Got stuck in a few meetings.” He kisses me again, and I hear Ross clear his throat; we part lips and look at him.

“As much fun as it is to watch you maul my little sister…” I can’t help but roll my eyes. You’d think he’d be used to it by now. “I’m gonna get going, though.”

“You don’t have to rush off,” Chandler says. “You can hang out and spend some time, if you want.”

“Nah. It’s not going to be just the four of you for much longer; get it while you can.”

I reach my arm out for a hug, giving him a squeeze. “Thanks for schlepping all the way out here just to visit,” I tell him, and he gives me a little pinch.

“Anytime.” He gives Chandler a quick hug. “Take care of her. Let us know if anything happens.” He drops to the floor, gathering the twins into his arms. “Bye bye, you two. Uncle Ross loves you.” He stands, reaching out and giving my belly a gentle poke. “Be good.” He pauses at the door, smiling at us. “Love you guys.”

As the door closes behind him, Chandler shakes his head at me. “No words.”

I just grin at him. “You know how emotional he gets during pregnancy.”

“Pregnancy, weddings, engagements…doesn’t seem to matter whose, though.” He picks up Jack, plopping him on the couch next to me, then puts Erica on my other side. I wrap my arms around them and pull them in. Jack leans against me, his hand tapping against my belly; Erica stands up, facing me, and points.

“Bah!”

“What’s ‘bah,’ Erica? I don’t know what that is.” She makes a face and bounces up and down for a moment. “Are you hungry?...Tired?...Cranky-pants?” She furrows her forehead, slumping against the arm of the chair. It must be frustrating to be that age—being able to understand what’s being asked, but not able to answer. “How about a kiss from Mommy? I know that’s what Mommy wants.” I lean in and kiss her cheek, making sure to make extra-puckery sounds, causing her to laugh. She leans against me, her arm draping across my chest, and I feel like I could melt. These two kill me. I give Jack a little squeeze, and I hear him softly say, “Mama.”

“He sounds sleepy,” I say to Chandler.

“When does he _not_?”

“Good point.”

“You need anything while I’m up?”

I shrug, kissing the top of Erica’s head. “Just some water.”

“Okay—be right back.”

I watch him walk into the kitchen and sigh. I lean my head against my daughter’s as she burrows into my side, her legs giving out until she slumps down next to me; amazingly, it seems like she wants to nap.

I hear Jack whine and my eyes fly open, looking around for a minute. I look out the window; the sun suddenly looks much lower in the sky. I go to wipe my face and realize both of my arms are still wrapped around my kids. Erica’s snoring softly, and Jack’s just making noises as he snoozes. An afghan has been draped over the three of us. I blink a few times before saying, “Chandler?” I know a baby monitor has to be close by.

A few seconds later he appears from his office area in the den rubbing his eyes, his glasses perched on top of his head. “Hey, honey.”

“What happened?” I ask, still feeling wildly disoriented.

He comes over to the couch, kissing my forehead. “I came out of the kitchen and you were passed out, the gremlins, too. I didn’t see much sense in waking you up because I _know _you and sleep are not exactly on best of terms right now. And the three of you looked so cute all curled up together like that. Anyway, then I got a call from work and I’ve been doing _that_ for the last hour, almost hour and a half.” He bends down and scoops up Jack, who blinks at him sleepily.

I groan a little, yawning. “They’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

Chandler grimaces a little as he tries to ease Jack into wakefulness without getting him agitated. “Sorry about that.”

I shrug, shifting Erica, whose eyes fly open, instantly alert. “Nothing to be done about it now. You had to work—what else were you supposed to do? I’m the one who fell asleep.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “How dare you? You’re only forty weeks pregnant. It’s simply unacceptable for you to sleep whenever you get the chance.”

I cringe as the baby moves, sliding onto my bladder. I pass off Erica then pull myself into a standing position as quickly as possible. “Oh, God. That made it worse.” I hustle into the bathroom.

Some people like to claim that women’s bodies are designed for pregnancy—to that, I invite anyone one of those people to be in their ninth month of pregnancy with a full grown infant situated directly on their bladder and see if they can sit down on a toilet in a hurry.

It’s fun.

My poor husband has heard more about the strange functions of a woman’s body in the last few months than he heard in our first six years together combined. If he finds me at all attractive when this whole thing is over, I’ll be shocked as hell.

I stand up, one hand bracing my back which suddenly seems to be tensed up. I flinch as I wash my hands, trying to adjust my standing position so that my back won’t feel so bad. I run a hand over my stomach and whisper, “It’s okay. You won’t be in there much longer.”

I walk into the kitchen, still rubbing my stomach—the twins are already in their high chairs, waiting for dinner. Erica bangs her hands on her tray when she sees me, and Jack sticks his empty spoon in his mouth. Chandler kisses my cheek, smoothing the hair back from my face.

“You don’t look so hot.”

“Thanks, honey. I love you, too.”

“No, I’m serious. Are you okay?”

I ease myself into one of the kitchen chairs, sighing. “My back hurts. Shocking, I know. And I’m just tired.”

“Why don’t you go lie down?”

“And leave you alone with the Dynamic Duo for supper? That’s not fair.”

The sound of the blender fills the kitchen as Chandler purees a bunch of food together—it became much simpler to just feed them what we’re eating instead of those tiny little jars of baby food, and they seem to prefer this. Once the food is done, he turns back to me with an eyebrow raised. “I think we’re past the point of fair/not fair, don’t you? I mean, you’re lugging around an actual child inside of you—I think you sort of have a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card.”

“At any rate, I don’t know that lying down will help my back at this point. I think getting the human out of me is what’s going to do the trick. I’ll just sit here and hang out with you guys, if you don’t mind.”

“Never. We always like Mommy’s company, don’t we, guys?”

I _do_ let him take care of the feeding part though I convince myself I’m there as back up, even though I keep nodding off. More than once I feel his hand on my shoulder—not to wake me but to brace me so I don’t fall out of the chair.

“Seriously, hon—you want to keep fighting sleep?”

“Does it really look like I’m fighting it?” I ask as I yawn, stretching my arms and arching my back. A moment later, I gasp out in pain, one hand going to my back, the other on my stomach.

Chandler immediately flies to attention. “Are you okay?”

I take a few short, gasping breaths, trying to force myself to breathe deeply; the pain is intense, but bearable. “I think so.”

“Was that…are you…?”

“A contraction?” I finish for him, and he nods, suddenly looking panicked. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never done this.” A few moments later, the pain subsides some and I force my body to relax.

“What did it feel like?”

I pause, not really knowing to describe it. “I don’t know. Sort of like something squeezing me.”

“Have you felt it before?”

All of the information I’ve learned from books and birthing classes over the last few months suddenly flies out the window, my mind going blank. “I don’t think so.”

“Does anything else hurt?”

I shake my head, biting my lip in worry. “No. Just my back. But…” I stop and really force myself to think about it, focusing on how _exactly_ my back has hurt lately. “I guess…it’s kind of been coming and going. Sort of like waves. Just cramping up from time to time. I didn’t think about it, though.”

He takes my hands in his; I can feel him shaking. “What do you want to do?”

“Should we go to the hospital?”

“Doesn’t the first stage of labor take hours?”

“It can. Though it’s possible that the backache_s were_ the first stage of labor. Sometimes that part happens without a lot of fanfare.”

“So…what you just felt could be the second stage?”

I shrug, my eyes filling with tears, feeling helpless. “Maybe?”

He wipes my eyes, keeping his hands on my cheeks. “It’s also possible for labor to happen really fast, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s different all the time. That’s why all of the books say that you’ll feel X, Y, and Z, unless you only feel Y and Z, or maybe just X, or whatever.”

“So, I guess…we could sit here and panic and freak out, or we could go to the hospital and find out that it’s nothing. I mean, what’s the worse they’ll do? Send us home and tell us to wait?”

I take a few more deep breaths, looking over at the clock, suddenly feeling wholly unprepared for this. “Why don’t...why don’t we wait and see if I feel it again, and then we’ll go from there.”

Chandler looks at me doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

I nod, closing my eyes. “Yeah. It _could_ have been a fluke.”

He still doesn’t look convinced, but he says nothing. I look over at Jack and Erica who, though they’re still eating, look alarmed. “Mama’s okay,” I tell them, trying to smile. “Your little brother or sister just might be coming into the world soon.” I lean forward and kiss their heads. “It’s okay.” I stand up, pulling a couple of garbage bags out of the pantry.

“What are you doing?”

“If I _am_ in labor, then I’m not going to risk having my water break all over the front seat of our car.”

I hear him snort before breaking out into laughter. “I love you, Monica.”

I open my mouth, all set to be indignant, when I realize exactly how it sounded, and why exactly it was funny. It was just so “Monica.” “Oh, ha ha ha, Monica likes things clean.”

He shakes his head, still laughing. “Not just that—it’s that you’re possibly _in labor_ and you’re thinking about keeping our car clean.”

“Well, I don’t want to have to clean up a bunch of amniotic fluid after giving birth, and I’m positive that you don’t, either.”

He winces, looking a little grossed out. “Yeah, that sounds kind of disgusting.” He smiles at me softly and sighs. “So, how do we pass the time?”

I shrug, folding, unfolding, and refolding the bags in my hands. “I don’t know. This feels worse than waiting for the pregnancy test.”

He starts cleaning up the kids’ dinner stuff, and I go behind him, wiping things down.

“Are you hungry?” he finally asks, desperate for something to do, but I just shake my head.

“No. I mean, if this is actually happening now, I probably should eat, but…no.”

“How long has it been? Any idea?”

I glance at the microwave clock again. “About ten minutes.”

He groans, but says nothing, instead pulling Jack out of his high chair and passing him to me, Erica not far behind. We walk into the living room and I pace back and forth, trying to kill time, also aware that sometimes a walk can help the process along. Pacing is about as close to walking as I can get right now.

Aside from the twins chattering occasionally, the room is quiet. I look at the clock again—almost twenty minutes have gone by, and I feel myself start to relax a bit. “It’s been a while, honey. Even if it’s labor, if it hasn’t happened by now, we’re probably okay for a whi—ow. Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow! Spoke too soon,” I grunt out, trying to keep my voice calm, not wanting to scare Jack, who’s still in my arms.

Chandler appears by my side, holding my arm gently, trying to steer me to the couch. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

I try to force myself to breathe deeply and to _not_ squeeze my child who, despite my best efforts, looks like he’s on the verge of tears. I sit down on the arm of the couch, trying to will my body to relax, and failing miserably for the most part. “I think…maybe…we should go to the hospital. Just in case.” I take a few more deep breaths—or as deep as I can manage right now. “Do we have everything we need?”

Chandler nods, Erica still on his hip, my other hand gripped in his. “Your bag is in the front closet; the new car seat is already in the car; we have diapers and clothes and a new crib…”

I nod, looking over at Jack, smiling. “You ready to be a big brother?”

His eyes grow wide as he smiles back at me. “Bahbah?”

I look at Chandler, who looks impressed despite his worry. “That’s close, Jack. _Brother_.” He takes my arm again, helping me stand. “Want me to call your parents?”

We decided a while ago that when this happened, we’d call my parents first, if only so that they could come and get the twins while I was in labor. After that, it’d be a crapshoot as to who got the call next. Sadly, at least one friend would be offended that they weren’t called first—sad when the birth of our child becomes about not insulting people.

“No, I’ll call them. That way no one can claim you haven’t been impartial.” I pull out my cell phone, and Chandler grabs my hand—I look up at him, and he smiles at me gently.

“This could be it.”

I nod, feeling my insides flutter. “You’re very calm, all things considered.” I give his fingers a squeeze.

“I won’t be for long. We’ll get you to the hospital and I’ll go to pieces.”

I press my forehead against his chest for a moment. I feel Erica pat the top of my head as she says, “Bahbah.”

Chandler chuckles. “No, little butt. You’re going to be a big sister. _Sister_.”

She scrunches up her face. “Teehtah?”

“Close enough for now,” I tell her, flipping open my phone, finding my parents number. As the phone rings, Chandler gets my bag out of the closet and heads to the car.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. Could you meet me and Chandler at the hospital? I think—”

I’m interrupted by her gasping. “Is it time?”

“I don’t know. We’re going to the hospital to see what’s going on; if you could just meet us there in case we need you to take the twins—”

“We’re on our way.” The phone goes silent and I sigh, heading out the door, too, not sure if I’m hoping this is really it or if it’s a false alarm.

“Jack, Mommy shouldn’t be calmer about this than Nana.”

He giggles and blows a raspberry—I think he agrees.

I just hope I can maintain this for a while.


	26. Chapter 26

It’s impressive how fast you can forget just about everything when you think your wife might be about to give birth.

I managed to drive almost completely on auto-pilot to the hospital, despite Monica nearly bent in half at one point as what we were assuming was another contraction hit her; I very calmly parked the car in an actual parking space, I remembered to bring the twins _and_ Monica with me into the hospital…I felt like I was doing all right. Then she had…an _episode_ at the front desk.

At least it got her into an exam room quickly. All the words and concepts I’ve been learning for the past few months evaporated at that point. They checked her out, using words like “effaced” and “dilated,” and I know for a _fact_ that I used to know this stuff. In fact, I knew this stuff about an hour ago.

Not now. Now, I’m useless. The upside is that apparently she’s now dilated enough to be admitted.

One thing I _have_ managed to retain is that, when a woman is that far along in her pregnancy, she has to go to the doctor constantly to have someone check her cervix for…stuff.

No thanks.

At any rate, Monica was likely in labor most of the day and didn’t know it because she’s now in a hospital bed, waiting, with contractions about fifteen minutes apart. All of our friends have been called and, despite us both telling them they don’t have to be here for this, they’re all on their way. My mom’s driving in from upstate, and my father managed to get his flight bumped up a couple of days.

I’m sitting on the bed next to her holding her hand, Jack in my lap, Erica tucked under her other arm when her parents finally arrive, both looking slightly panicked.

I understand that feeling very well. I’m probably a lot more nervous about this than I ought to be, considering we already have two kids, but…three of them. That’s a lot of little people running around. That’s a lot of people whose lives depend upon me and Monica and our ability to not completely screw them up.

Judy rushes over to the bed, kissing everyone within reach, placing a hand on Monica’s knee.

“How are you? Is everything all right?”

Monica’s eyes grow wide as she tries to stifle her laughter. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just having a baby. People do that all the time, you know.”

“Yes, but it’s not usually my daughter.”

Big Jack walks over to us, standing behind me as he puts an arm around Monica’s shoulders, essentially pushing me out of the way. I stand up with a sigh, bouncing my son on my hip. “How’s my Har-Monica?”

“I’m okay, Dad.” She leans forward a bit, giving me a look, and I just shrug at her. I’ll let her parents have the moment if they need it. “And Mom, by the way, _ow_.” She points down to her leg, where her mother’s hand has gone white-knuckled from gripping her so hard.

Judy relaxes her grip but doesn’t move her hand. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m set. And, you know, my husband’s actually here if there’s anything I _do_ need.”

Almost as if noticing me for the first time, Jack and Judy turn to look at me, smiling vaguely. “Yes, of course he is,” she answers. “Do you want us to stick around the hospital, or…”

I swear Monica looks more panicked at that prospect than actually giving birth. “No, that’s okay. Please just take the twins with you. They’ve already been fed, but I accidentally let them nap too long today so it might be a while before they go down for the night.”

“Well, let’s be honest,” I finally say. “Jack’s probably ready for sleep again right now. Erica’s going to be the one who won’t sleep. But there’s plenty of extra stuff in their diaper bag; clothes, bottles, toys, whatever.” Jack and Judy look at me almost blankly for a minute before turning back to Monica. I sigh and kiss my son’s little head. “It’s a good thing your dad had nothing to do with this, right, big guy?”

I’m sure it’s completely coincidental, but Jack reaches up and pats my cheek for a moment before putting his head on my shoulder and smacking his lips. That one little moment makes me feel a million times better.

“If we can, we’ll call you in the morning,” Monica says, pulling Erica against her chest and giving her a hug. “The doctor says I’m progressing pretty quickly right now, but we’ll see.”

“What time can we come back?” her father asks, stroking Erica’s hair.

Monica gives me a look and I just shrug—all I know is right now they don’t want to hear it from me. “Ummm…well, the twins are usually up between six and seven. Even if Erica doesn’t go to sleep until late tonight, please don’t let her sleep in tomorrow. But, I guess…after they’ve had breakfast is fine. But please, _please_…if I haven’t gotten much farther in this, don’t come rushing back here. I don’t want them sitting around in the waiting room for hours.”

“Okay, but what if you can’t call?” asks Judy.

“If Chandler can’t call you, that probably means I’m pushing. So…” Monica looks at me helplessly—I know she doesn’t want to have to deal with this right now. I push my way back to her, dangling Jack over his mother.

“Say ‘bye bye’ to Mama, kiddo.”

“Bye,” he answers, grinning, and Monica leans up to kiss him.

“Night night, sweetheart. I love you.” She turns to Erica, taking her face in her hands and giving her a kiss. “Night night, baby. I love you.”

“Come to Nana, Erica,” Judy says, smiling at her granddaughter, but Erica’s face scrunches up as she turns away.

“No!”

“Oh, God,” I mumble, walking around to the other side of the bed, hoping to nip this tantrum in the bud. “Come see Dada, Eri.” Still sulky, she turns to me, holding out her arms—at least my kids are still on my side—and I pull her to me, a baby now on each hip. “The three of us are going to have to get used to this, guys—Mama’s gonna have to spend a lot of time holding your brother or sister for a while. I think we’ll be all right, though. What do you think?”

Monica’s eyes fill with tears; I’m guessing she hadn’t given a lot of thought to how much the baby will need her, especially since she’s going to be the main food source for a while. Neither did I until just this moment.

“Erica, look at Daddy.” Immediately, she leans back, staring at me with her big, brown eyes. “I need you go with Nana and Grandpa, okay? You’ll get to do all the fun things that Mommy and Daddy never let you do, and in a few hours, you’ll get to meet the baby. Can you do that?” I don’t know how much of it she understands exactly, but she finally gives me a little nod. “Thank you. Kiss?” She puckers her lips for me—they’re even cuter now that they understand exactly how to do this—and give her a kiss. I look over at Jack, who’s already puckered for me, and chuckle as I kiss him, too. “And you…don’t sleep too much. Hug,” I tell them both, pulling them close for a few moments before passing Erica off to Judy—who looks suitably impressed—with no fuss this time. I hand little Jack off to his grandfather, then pass off the diaper bag as well. I don’t want them to feel like we’re rushing them out of the room, but…

“We really appreciate you taking them for us,” Monica adds, holding her hand out for me, linking our fingers together. “But we don’t want them around for this. I don’t want to scare…them…” Her breathing grows rapid suddenly, her eyes wide for a moment before her face collapses in pain. “Owwwww. Augh!” Her fingers tighten around mine as her entire body tenses up, horrible, high-pitched noises coming out of her.

I immediately sit down on the bed next to her, pushing her hair back with my free hand. “Listen to me, Monica. Just breathe. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. _Breathe_.” She fights it for a few more seconds before she finally gasps for air, trying to breathe slowly, her face still scrunched. “That’s it. That’s it.” Eventually, her grip starts to loosen, her breathing evening out. “You okay?”

“That _sucked_.”

I chuckle a little, kissing her temple. “It looked like it.” We hear a squeak and look up; we completely forgot her parents were still in the room with the twins. Her father looks horrified, his face pale, and a second later, he turns and disappears through the door.

“What was that?” Monica asks, reaching out to stroke Erica’s foot; Erica’s looking at her mother in shock.

“I don’t think your father was prepared to see you like that,” Judy answers, though she doesn’t look much better herself.

I kiss Monica’s knuckles, sliding off the bed. “I’ll…go see if he’s okay.”

I go out into the hall and see him slumped against a wall, holding my son close. “Uh…sir?” I take a few steps closer, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Everything all right?”

He stands up quickly—fast enough that I jerk my hand back, startled. “_You_ did this to her.”

I take a few steps back, shocked. “Excuse me?”

“My little girl is in pain because of you.”

I’ve truly never found Jack Geller intimidating—maybe it’s because he’s always been more like a big teddy bear than anything else, or because he’s usually fairly absent-minded—but right now, I don’t know that I’ve ever been more scared of another human in my entire life, and I honestly have no idea how to respond to that. It _is_ because of me she’s in pain right now. Well, at least partly because of me.

“I know. And if I could do it for her, I would. In a heartbeat. But she _does_ want this, sir. And we both know that even if there were an easy way out of this, she wouldn’t take it.” I take a deep breath, approaching him slowly. “Monica is _so_ strong. There is no one in this world who can handle this better than she can. I will be with her every step of the way.”

He rubs his hand over his eyes—I’ve always known that Jack is protective of his daughter, but this is the first time I’ve ever had the chance to experience this sort of ferocity…and I think I understand it. “You don’t know what it’s like…to see someone that you love in pain like that…”

“For what it’s worth—I think I do. I love your daughter and our children more than anything else in this world. There is literally nothing I wouldn’t do to save them from hurting. And one day…that’s going to be Erica in there…” I feel a lump form in my throat at the thought of my little bitty girl going through this. “And that thought already scares the hell out of me.”

His arm shoots out and I tense for a moment before he wraps it around me—in all the years I’ve been with Monica, I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever actually hugged me. My son makes a quiet noise of protest as he’s squished in between us, and it strikes me as interesting—three generations of men, not a single drop of blood that ties us together, but we all have one thing in common.

We all love that woman lying in that hospital bed.

Fortunately, we’re saved from ourselves by voices coming down the hall at us—it’s easy to tell just from the commotion it’s our friends. An instant later, Jack has composed himself, looking once more like the goofy guy we all know. Their greetings are lost in a jumble and I just point at Monica’s room; they all greet both Jacks as they walk by, then Erica as Judy walks out the door.

I lean forward and kiss my son’s head. “Love you,” I whisper, rubbing his back for a minute. As I turn away, I see Big Jack with his hand out, and I shake it briefly before turning toward the door. I lean down and kiss Erica’s cheek and whisper into her ear, “Don’t grow up too fast.” She looks at me and burps.

I think I’m okay for a while.

“Take care of her, Chandler,” Judy says to me, softly, and I pat her arm reassuringly.

“I will.” I walk back into the room; Monica, not surprisingly, looks overwhelmed. She holds her hand out to me and I immediately take my place at her side.

“Has your water broken yet?” Phoebe asks suddenly, and everyone looks at Monica, interested.

“No, not yet. But—”

“How dilated are you?” Rachel asks, and Joey holds up his hand.

“Whoa. Too much information, Rache.”

“But I want to know!”

“Guys!” Monica exclaims suddenly, and all eyes are on her. “Everything’s fine so far. Contractions are about every fifteen minutes, and _things_ are progressing quickly. For right now. We don’t know how long it’ll be, though, so if you guys don’t _want_ to hang out here, you don’t have to.”

“Like we’d miss this,” Ross answers, smiling at us goofily.

“And don’t worry,” Phoebe says, patting Monica’s foot. “I’ve already briefed Mike about what happens when one of us goes into labor. He’s prepared to wait it out.”

He just shrugs a little, his arm going around Phoebe. “It’ll be good practice.”

“But seriously, Mon; how do you feel?” Joey asks, and Monica just shrugs.

“Okay, right now. Not so okay during contractions, but I’ll get through it.”

It’s great that our friends are here, and I love that they care so much, but I’d much rather spend this time with just Monica.

Especially because they keep bombarding the poor woman with questions.

Amazingly, the first time she has a contraction with them in the room, they don’t seem the slightest bit fazed. Nor are they bothered the second or third time it happens. They carry on conversations and play card games, almost as if nothing huge is about to happen. They don’t even notice when the nurses come in to check on her and the baby.

I guess it’s to keep her occupied, so she doesn’t think about what her body is going through, and for the most part, it seems to be helping. They’re making her laugh, talking to her, talking around her—in general, just being themselves.

The next contraction hits, though, and it sounds different, like the baby actually really making moves to leave her body soon. She clutches at my hands as the room around us goes silent, waiting.

Monica looks up me finally, panting, her face red. “Where’s my doctor?” she asks, her voice small.

“Oh, honey.” I kiss her forehead. “I don’t know. I paged her, but—”

A moment later, Dr. Rosen strides through the door, almost as if her ears were burning. “I heard you have a baby coming out of you, Monica.” She looks around the room, surprised to see such a gathering of people. “Can I assume this is the ‘everyone’ I’ve heard all about?”

Monica smiles weakly, the back of her head resting against my chest. “It is,” I answer for the both of us.

Dr. Rosen smiles warmly at the group. “It’s great to meet all of you. Now get out.” Our friends start to protest, but she just holds up a hand, cutting them off. “Your friend is doing _a lot_ of work right now, and she needs every spare second to rest. Go wait.”

One by one, they filter past us, giving hugs and kisses before they leave the room, and Monica looks immensely relieved. “Thank you.”

The doctor pulls up a stool, sitting next to the bed. “You could have told them to leave, too, you know.”

I just snort. “Yeah, right.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to make it,” Monica says, and Dr. Rosen just smiles at us.

“Like I would miss _this_. No, I was just out of the area when you paged, and I hit some traffic getting back. But tell me, Monica—what’s going on?”

“Don’t you want to check me out first?”

“No. I’ve got the charts right here,” she answers, holding up a couple of files for evidence. “I want to know what _you_ know. From the beginning.”

That’s what we’ve both always liked about this doctor; she knows that there’s a lot that goes on that doesn’t end up in a chart.

Monica just shrugs. “I guess it started with lower back pain—I didn’t really notice other than my back was sore and tired. Is that normal?”

“To not notice the early stages of labor? Absolutely. Sometimes it’s better that way, especially if your water hasn’t broken—you can just sort of go about your life normally for a while longer.”

“Okay—water still hasn’t broken, though.”

“That’s okay, too. Don’t get too bogged down in what happens to other women, or with what you see in movies. Labor is always different. You could still have _hours_ before your water breaks. It’s possible we’ll have to break it for you. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, though. Keep going.”

“Contractions are about fifteen minutes apart, give or take a minute or so. They feel like they’re getting stronger, though.”

The doctor looks over at me. “Anything she’s leaving out?”

“I…I don’t think so. She’s dealing with the contractions really well so far. I’m really impressed.”

“That’s good! So you think you’re going to try this medication-free?”

Monica looks up at me and I just shake my head. “That is completely up to you. It’s your body and you’re the only one who knows how much of this you can handle.”

She nods, looking back to the doctor. “Yeah. I don’t want to wind up getting so numb that I can’t even feel when to push.”

“Okay—sounds good. Just remember, if you change your mind, your window of opportunity is only going to get smaller.”

“No…I want to try.”

She gives Monica’s ankle a pat then scoots the chair down to the foot of the bed, pulling gloves out of her pocket. “All right. Let’s check under the hood, shall we?” She flips back the blanket, and I can see her nodding. “This looks good. You’re about ninety percent effaced and almost six centimeters dilated.”

Monica and I both groan. “That’s what I was the last _two_ times they checked me!”

Dr. Rosen pulls the blanket back down, stripping off her gloves. “No one ever said this was going to be easy or fast. Sometimes labor slows down or stops completely. We’ll keep checking, so don’t worry about it too much, but you’re probably going to be in for a long night. If you want, you _can_ still get up and walk around, as long as you think you can handle it. _And_ as long as Chandler’s with you. It’s possible that it’ll speed up the whole process, and if nothing else, it’ll help you pass the time. Don’t go wandering for too long at a stretch, though, either. I’ll need you back here every ten, fifteen minutes to check you out some more, and you don’t want to run yourself down too much.”

We both nod, and she gets up, leaving the room.

“So…want to wander the halls of the maternity ward?” she asks me, sighing.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” I answer, helping her stand up, sliding her robe over her shoulders. Her hands immediately go to her back, and she suddenly looks much more pregnant than usual. I rub my hand gently over her belly, which now feels more firm and tense than it ever has.

She takes my hand as I lead her into the hall, leaning against me gently. “I was really hoping I’d be farther along; instead, it’s like it’s stuck in neutral.”

“Gee—our child is stubborn _and_ a pain in the ass? Whoda thunkit?”

She gives me a look, but says nothing. We walk quietly for a few minutes, slowly. I want to be able to distract her, keep her mind off of the wait if nothing else, but right now all I can think about is her and what her body is doing.

“Does it feel weird?” I finally ask.

“A little. I mean, I can feel the baby’s head right down here.” Her hand rubs under her belly, right at her groin. “It’s right in my pelvis—there’s so much pressure there right now, it’s unbelievable.”

“Does it hurt?”

“The head? Right now, not really. Or at least not enough to negate the fact that my body is trying to force a person out.” Her hand grips mine unexpectedly; I’m pretty sure I can feel my bones rubbing together. I take her other arm in my hand and turn her toward me, her eyes are squeezed shut, her face contorted in pain.

“Look at me, Monica.” She shakes her head as she grits her teeth, her hands digging into me, a low grunt pushing its way out of her. “Come on, look at me.” Her eyes fly open and meet mine—she looks absolutely terrified right now. “In and out. Remember?” I take a few deep breaths, trying to get her to follow me, and eventually, she does, her chest rising and falling in time with mine. “That’s it.”

Her grip on me loosens marginally, her head coming to rest on my chest as her shoulders rise and fall as she struggles to relax. “Why are you so calm?”

“So you don’t have to be,” I answer, kissing her hair.

“I love you,” she whispers, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as closely as I dare at this point.

“I love you, too.”

I feel some of the tension in her arms fade after a few long minutes, and she laughs a little. “You know one of the trickiest parts of this whole contractions business?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not like your entire body just relaxes after one. So, your body goes all tense, and then the contraction ends, and it takes at least another minute if not longer for the rest of your body to feel safe enough to relax. So I know they want to time contractions from the end of the uterus-in-a-vice sensation to when it starts again, but…”

“It feels like they’re closer? Is that what you mean? I mean, when you take into account all the rest of the sensations?”

She nods. “Yeah. I don’t think my brain is functioning at capacity right now.”

“It’s just possible that your body is focusing its energies elsewhere right now.” I link her arm through mine, steering her back in the direction of her room. “Let’s head back for a little while, okay? Maybe we’ll just walk around in the room.”

“Okay,” she answers, her voice small and tired.

We do take the long way back, taking our time and circumventing the waiting room. We’re only a few feet from the room when she stops and looks at me.

“Another one?” I ask, and she nods as her mouth drops open, a yell falling out. Her knees buckle and I grab onto her elbows, trying to keep her upright. I try to calm her, but I don’t think she can hear me over the yelling. I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness—my wife is agony and I can do nothing to stop it.

I see the door to her room open and Dr. Rosen pokes her head out. “I thought I heard your dulcet tones.”

And I thought _I_ had bad timing with my quips. “Doc…”

But she’s already holding Monica’s hand, encouraging her to breathe and trying to relax her. Monica whimpers as the contraction passes, slumping against the wall as she pants.

“Bad one, huh?” the doctor asks. Monica gives her a look of death, but says nothing. “Let’s get you back into bed for a while, okay?”

We go a couple of steps before Monica pauses again, a weird look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly alarmed.

“I think…my water just broke?”

“You think?”

“I hope that was my water, or else the entire family is in need of diapers.”

The doctor steers us forward, guiding Monica to the bed. I help ease her into it while the doctor grabs a cloth and fresh pair of gloves. Her head disappears for a moment, then she wipes off Monica’s legs. “Definitely your water. And, good news, you’re one hundred percent effaced. You’re dilated…about six and a half centimeters.” Monica groans and the doctor tries to be encouraging. “That’s good. That’s progress. I know you’re ready for this to be over, but babies come in their own time, in their own way. Everything looks good though, so I don’t want you worrying about any of that.” She peels off her gloves, giving her hands a quick scrub down. “What I want you to try to do, since you’re not ready to push yet, is eat ice chips and try to sleep just a little.”

Monica rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Right.”

“I’m serious. I know it sounds impossible, and it may not happen much, but _try_. When a contraction ends, close your eyes and rest. If you focus on that part, you might surprise yourself. Chandler, I want you to help her. Rub her shoulders, her back, whatever she needs to relax. You _need_ sleep, and since this baby wants to make itself known when you usually sleep, it’s even more important that you try, okay?”

Monica nods, finally, and says, “I’ll try.”

“Good. The nurses and I will be back to check on you—unless something major happens or you dilate completely all of a sudden, we’ll try to be quiet so you’re not disturbed. Now close your eyes.”

Reluctantly, she does, and I slide my arm around her shoulders, pulling her head into the crook of my neck. The doctor hooks up the fetal monitor then slips out of the room, and I kiss Monica’s temple. “Just try, honey,” I whisper, and I feel her sigh against me, her body relaxing marginally.

I play with her fingers, waiting for the next one to happen. I keep my eye on the clock, even though I don’t really know how long ago the last one was. Amazingly, checking my watch isn’t anywhere near my first priority when my wife is screaming in pain.

Somehow, against all odds, Monica _does_ manage to sleep between some of the contractions. Aside from asking for ice chips or asking me to help her to the bathroom, she’s mostly quiet when not crying out in pain. The medical staff flits through occasionally, checking the baby, checking Monica, silently mouthing the centimeters to me so I can keep tabs. About midnight, she stalls out around seven centimeters, her contractions steady at ten minutes apart.

This is torture.

I know it has to feel worse for Monica, but this is agony. She already looks so worn out; her face is coated in a fine sheen of sweat, and every so often I can see her belly sort of constrict.

Though that might be my imagination.

It definitely feels harder when I put my hand on it during a contraction, which makes sense.

Feels really damn weird, though.

I do my best to tune out Monica’s cries, instead trying to focus on just helping her through it, holding her hands and keeping her calm.

It’s not easy, but at least it keeps my mind off how nerve racking this whole thing is.

Time passes so slowly, and so quickly at the same time.

At close to four in the morning, after checking on Monica again, I get a happy thumbs up from the nurse, who whispers “eight” to me, and I feel a huge sense of relief. Finally, progress.

The contractions don’t seem to speed up much, though, which is a little disheartening.

At four thirty, Monica stops trying to pretend to sleep.

“This is insane,” she says, rubbing the sides of her stomach.

“It looks like you’re moving along much faster than Rachel did, if that’s any consolation.”

“It would be, if Rachel hadn’t been in labor for—what was it?—four, five days?”

I wrap my arms around her, giving her a little squeeze. “Something like that.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; there was no way it was gonna happen, though.”

“Am I any farther along?”

“Eight centimeters.”

She lets out a long sigh before shrugging. “That’s something.” She hunches forward, her eyes closing. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.”

I slide my fingers through hers, letting her squeeze as much as she needs.

This time, she manages to take a few deep breaths without my prompting, but when she sits back against me, she has tears running down her face.

I barely refrain from asking if she’s okay, knowing she’s not. “You’re doing great,” I finally whisper, even though I know it’s not enough. “I think that was a little closer than the last contraction.” I look at my watch, surprised—they’re down to about six minutes apart.

That kind of jump has to be a good sign, right? That, or my timing has been off and her contractions weren’t as far apart as I thought.

I don’t say anything to her, in case I’m wrong. Instead, I sing to her, tunelessly. “Moon River, wider than a mile. I’m crossing you in style someday.”

She groans, chuckling a little. “The baby doesn’t like when you sing to it.”

“The baby doesn’t, or Monica doesn’t?”

“Definitely the baby. You know I _love_ your singing voice.”

I shrug, singing again—if it makes her laugh, if it distracts her, I’ll do anything. “Dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.”

She laughs again, her voice mingling with mine. “Two drifters off to see the world—there’s such a lot of world to see.”

I kiss her cheek; she gives my hands a squeeze, and this time not because she’s in pain.

“We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waiting ‘round the bend, my Huckleberry friend.”

She leans her head back and I kiss her gently, whispering against her lips, “Moon River, and me.”

“I hope the baby doesn’t mind how ridiculously cheesy its parents are,” she says, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t seem to bother the twins. We’ll just be one big, cheesy family.”

“I can live with tha—oh, God. Ohhhhhhhh! Owwwwwwww!” Her body hunches forward again as she groans out in pain—I vaguely see Dr. Rosen enter the room, but all she does is put her hand on Monica’s leg and tell her to relax.

Her head falls back against my chest as she gasps, and the doctor assumes her position at Monica’s feet. “Good news! You’re at ten centimeters.”

“But…she was just at eight less than an hour ago.”

The doctor just quirks an eyebrow at me. “It can change that fast, Chandler. When the body decides that it’s time, it’s time. Let’s get you to the delivery room.”

The world around me goes hazy all of a sudden as I slide off the bed; a few moments later, a gurney appears and Monica’s being transferred from one to the other.

I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Monica yells out again, and they stop moving her for a moment, the doctor checking to make sure…I don’t know, to make sure the baby’s not falling out or something.

When we get to delivery, I help move Monica one more time and slide behind her; we decided early on that this was how we wanted it, so that we’d both see the baby at the same time. The doctor checks her again—the contractions are getting closer, but she won’t let Monica push.

“When?” I ask, desperate to get Monica out of this sort of pain.

“Soon,” the doctor answers. “Unfortunately, babies don’t punch a clock. We’re kind of at their mercy.”

“The end part’s no fun,” Monica moans. “I like the first part—let’s go back and do the first part.”

“You mean the actual making of the baby? Sounds good to me.”

She laughs a little, and another contraction causes her to bunch up as she moans.

“I want you to push next time,” the doctor says a few moments later.

“Really?” I’ve never seen Monica look more relieved or more horrified in her entire life.

“Yeah. It’ll still probably take a while, but I want you to start pushing. You’ll still have some time to rest in between them.”

I swallow hard and grab the backs of Monica’s legs, ready to pull them up when I need to. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest and I kiss her neck. “You can do this,” I whisper. “You can do anything.”

She nods and links her fingers with mine, ready.

The doctor and nurses make small talk, but I can’t hear them.

All that matters right now is the woman in my arms.

It occurs to me that, this whole time we been in the hospital, I haven’t heard Monica say anything negative. She hasn’t said that she can’t do it, she hasn’t demanded the baby be removed by force, she hasn’t even said, “no.” She just grits her teeth and bears down, making noises that, to me, sound horrific, but I’m sure are fairly standard.

Maybe she’s still afraid of jinxing it.

More likely, she’s just that tough.

She truly is amazing.

I hear the doctor tell Monica to push and we pull up her legs as she grunts; I can feel the tension in her body as she strains until the doctor tells her to stop.

She leans against me, panting, waiting for the next one.

“I was kind of hoping that’d be it,” I mumble in her ear, and she chuckles a little.

“You’re an idiot.”

I just nod, remaining silent. We both wait.

“Relax a little, Monica,” the doctor says. “You’ve got a long way to go.”

“Then why are you telling me to push?”

“Because the road can be even longer when you don’t. Push at the next contraction.”

A couple of minutes later, I feel Monica’s body tense again and she leans forward, the noises coming out of her sounding more like a growl than anything else.

This is not a woman I’d want to mess with.

This whole thing feels like a vicious tease—Monica contracts and pushes, pushes with all she’s got, and nothing. The doctor keeps telling her to push, and she doesn’t seem at all worried about the fact that nothing is happening. And Monica just keeps going. She pushes when she’s told to, she relaxes when it’s time—she looks very focused, like an athlete in the Olympics.

And really, I don’t know how else to describe it right now—this is the ultimate test of endurance.

She’s magnificent.

She collapses against me as another contraction ends, and I grab a towel to wipe her forehead. I don’t know how she’s doing this; the contractions are only a couple minutes apart now.

“You’re doing great,” Dr. Rosen says, giving Monica an encouraging smile. “_Don’t_ push next time—give your body a break.”

“I don’t need a break,” Monica gasps, and I know she means it, even if it’s not true.

“Do it anyway.”

“I want to push,” she tells me, her voice small.

“I know, baby. I know. But give it a minute. Please?”

Her body constricts again, and I have to watch her fight against her body’s natural instinct. “I still feel like I’m pushing,” she grunts out through gritted teeth.

“The body does that,” the doctor answers, not looking up. “It’ll try to push the baby out no matter what—I just didn’t want you to help it this time.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh. This feels worse than pushing. AUGH!”

“Breathe, Monica. Just breathe.”

She gives me a dirty look over her shoulder, and I open my mouth helplessly. She takes a few deep breaths anyway.

“I just saw the top of the head,” the doctor finally says.

Monica’s eyes grow wide as we both exclaim, “WHAT?”

“It went back into hiding, but you’re almost there. Hopefully with a few more pushes the baby’ll be crowning.”

“_Only_ crowning?” I exclaim. The doctor gives me a look and I close my mouth.

“Push next time, okay?”

Monica nods, getting her body ready for the next round.

She pushes, then she stops.

She pushes, then she stops.

It feels like an endless cycle.

This baby really is stubborn.

“Okay, STOP pushing!”

Monica gasps, her body nearly bent in half. “Why?”

“Your body needs a minute.” The doctor reaches down, inspecting. “It’s crowning. Want to feel?”

Monica and I exchange a quick horrified look before each reaching a hand down, letting the doctor guide us.

That is definitely a head-like shape. And it is definitely bizarre.

Monica pulls her hand away, grabbing onto me once more. “That’s weird. That’s weird!”

She starts to groan again, her body arching forward.

“Don’t push.”

“I can’t help it,” she moans, her body straining.

A minute later, her body droops against mine. “You’re so close,” I tell her, trying to be encouraging, not really sure how to be. All I can tell her is that she’s doing a great job, and that doesn’t seem like enough. “Great” doesn’t seem like nearly enough.

A couple of contractions later, the doctor says, “Okay, Monica—on this next one, I want you to push like you’ve never pushed before. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“That’s. What. I’ve. Been. Doing,” she growls.

“Give me more.” I do enjoy how this doctor isn’t the slightest bit intimidated by my wife, though I suppose she’s delivered enough babies to know what expectant mothers are like.

“You can do it,” I tell her, ready to pull her legs up again. She nods against me, her fingers tightening around mine.

“Push!” the doctor yells, and Monica lurches forward, her chin against her chest, her face turning red, silent as she uses her breath to push. Just as her face is turning dark, she opens her mouth, letting out a yell like I’ve never heard, her body shaking against mine.

“Stop pushing.” The doctor grabs a little bulb thing and smiles at us. “The head’s out. Just gonna clean the gook out of its nose and mouth, and then you can push some more.”

“I still have to get the shoulders out?” Monica asks, her voice weary, her body even more so.

“After the head’s out, the rest of the baby usually follows pretty easily. Just give us a minute to make sure this part is done.”

Monica whimpers through another contraction, fighting off her body, knowing our child is _right there_ and needs her to wait just a few more minutes. “Almost,” she whispers to me. “Almost.”

Dr. Rosen looks up at us finally. “I need another big push, Monica. You’re almost there. Your baby’s almost here. You ready?”

Monica nods, and I swear I see her get calm and collected, and even more determined.

This is it—the home stretch.

She takes a deep breath and leans forward; I grip her legs, doing my best to help. Her body starts to shake again as she pushes, strangled noises leaving her mouth every couple of seconds as she pushes, sweat pouring down her face. I see the determination start to fade from her eyes as she starts to lose juice before she grits her teeth one more, her mouth opening a second later as she screams, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

An instant later, a weird, alien-like cry fills the room and Monica gasps for air. The doctor grins at us as she holds up the baby.

My mouth drops open; I can see Monica go slack-jawed, too.

It’s our baby.

It’s actually our baby.

Holy shit.


	27. Chapter 27

Childbirth is _not_ glamorous.

Not in any way, shape, or form.

Actually, for the most part, it’s downright boring.

No one ever tells you that, though.

All the movies and TV shows make it seem like your water breaks and then labor starts, and even if it takes a while, it doesn’t _really_ take a while, and even though you’re trying force another human being out of your body, you’ll somehow still look pretty when you’re screaming in agony.

None of this is true.

My water didn’t break until I was a few hours into it.

I don’t know if this makes me a horrible mother, but I had no idea I was in labor for a while. My doctor told me it was okay, and maybe even for the best, but it still feels weird to know _this_ was happening and I had no idea.

I suppose that’s an appropriate way to end this pregnancy, though, considering for the first two and a half months, I had no clue I was actually pregnant.

It seems like such a long time ago.

It seems like it was just yesterday.

But still…I did sort of think that once I went into labor, that would be it. I’d have the contractions, I’d have the baby…poof. Just like that.

There is a _lot_ of waiting around, though.

It’s no wonder they send women home if it’s too early.

It’s also not surprising that my doctor told me to try to sleep in between contractions.

I try—I really do. And for a few minutes here and there, I’m successful. But it’s incredibly difficult to relax your body when you know that a contraction is coming, even if it’s not coming for another ten minutes.

I’m also learning that contractions are exhausting. I feel like I’m running a marathon. That’s the only reason I’m able to nod off for even a couple of minutes.

Chandler is being incredibly patient. His arm is around me, letting me lean against him; he lets me crush his hands every time a contraction hits. For hours. He’s wonderful.

I’m going to do my best not to scream at him during this.

Another thing that makes it hard to sleep—someone constantly poking around in your vagina while you’re trying to rest. I know the nurses are just doing what they’re supposed to be doing, but it doesn’t make the situation any less awkward.

Somewhere in the early morning, I give up attempting sleep—I’m only getting irritated that I _can’t_ sleep.

Chandler sings “Moon River” to me, tunelessly, but it makes me laugh, distracting me for a few minutes, even getting me to sing along.

This may be one of the reasons people find us nauseating, or at least why they assume our life is perfect.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by another contraction; this is a pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s not always the worst pain—yet—or the most intense pain—yet—but it’s definitely like nothing else.

For a few moments, my stomach becomes like a rock as it tries to expel the baby, kicking it out of its home.

I collapse against Chandler, trying to breathe, trying to think of anything but how much I’m already dreading the next contraction, when I realize my doctor is in front of me, grinning. “Good news! You’re at ten centimeters.”

I hear Chandler’s voice in my ear, but all I can do is wonder how my doctor managed to poke around down there without me even noticing.

All of a sudden, I hear “delivery room,” and Chandler is trying to help ease me out of bed and onto a gurney.

I feel like I’m having an out of body experience, like this is only sort of happening to me.

We don’t get very far before I seize up again, crying out in agony, wringing my husband’s hand, the contraction stronger this time. They give me a minute, the doctor checking me again, before they continue wheeling me down the hall, a little faster now.

In the delivery room, they want me to switch beds again, and I almost refuse—women do this squatting in fields, there’s no reason why _I _can’t do it on gurney. But my body’s on autopilot, and I slide from one bed to the next, the machines hooked up to me once more. I feel Chandler maneuver behind me, pulling me against his chest, his hands gently holding my legs.

I never, _ever_ would have suspected that Chandler Bing would be this involved in the delivery process. Even after we decided we wanted kids, I always sort of figured that he’d be supportive and stand by my side and hold my hand, maybe pass out at some point. I was surprised that he managed to survive Erica giving birth to the twins, but he’s been super-involved this entire time, learning as much as he can about the whole process, asking questions, making plans…

But this is as much a miracle for him as it is for me.

The doctor tells me not to push yet, and I almost reach out and rip off her head.

My body isn’t really giving me much of an option at this point.

“This part’s no fun,” I tell Chandler, breathing heavily. “I like the first part—let’s go back and do the first part.”

I feel him smile against my hair. “You mean the actual making of the baby? Sounds good to me.”

I start to laugh, then a contraction hits again, my whole body tightening as I try not to push, listening to Chandler in my ear telling me to breathe.

“I want you to push next time.”

The words I’ve longed to hear, and the words I’ve been dreading. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’ll still probably take a while, but I want you to start pushing. You’ll still have some time to rest in between them.”

It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it’s going to take a while—I swear I can feel this kid pushing out right now.

I hear Chandler whisper to me, “You can do this. You can do anything.” His grip on my thighs tightens and I suddenly feel very focused—somehow, knowing that he’s here, that he believes in me, is what I need. It’s all I need.

I link my fingers through his and hold on tight.

I hear the doctor tell me to push, and I do—with everything I’ve got, but I have no idea how to do this, how to actually work with what my body’s trying to do naturally.

The doctor’s encouraging me, telling me to keep going. I can hear Chandler in my ear, even though I can’t make out the words.

My body gives out a moment before she tells me to stop pushing, and I lean against my husband, gasping.

This is so much harder than I ever expected.

“I was kind of hoping that’d be it,” he whispers to me, and I laugh. I don’t know how he does it, how it manages to do it every time, but he always says just what I need to hear when I need to hear it.

“You’re an idiot,” I tell him, smiling. He tightens his arms around me and remains silent.

Waiting.

We’re all waiting.

Dr. Rosen tells me to relax because I have a long way to go.

I think I’m going to throw up.

That one push felt like it took everything in me. How am I supposed to keep this up?

But I do. Somehow…I do.

I push when she tells me to push. I hold Chandler’s hands so tightly I feel like I _have_ to be crushing the bones.

He never complains. He just keeps telling me to breathe.

I focus on his voice. I can’t think about how much this hurts or how tired I am or how badly I just want to give up, so I focus on him.

The love of my life. The guy who’s never left my side, who will _never_ leave my side.

It helps.

I breathe as deeply as I can as I push. I try to relax a little, try to find my body’s natural rhythm to this.

“_Don’t_ push next time—give your body a break.”

The woman must be insane. I’m supposed to try to stop this _now_? “I don’t need a break.”

“Do it anyway.”

I look up at Chandler—he’s sweating almost as much as I am. “I want to push.”

“I know, baby. I know. But give it a minute. Please?”

Another contraction tightens my body and I think I’m going to cry. Not pushing at this point is worse; my body wants it out. Actually, my body is still pushing without my help.

I hear Chandler telling me to breathe and for a moment, I think I’m actually going to kill him. I want to tell him that I don’t need to be reminded to breathe, but I realize I’m holding my breath; I let it out through my teeth and try not to think evil thoughts toward my husband.

Then the doctor says she saw the head.

I’ve spent most of a year with this baby—I’ve felt it move, kick, hiccup, stretch, punch, and flip around. It’s moved my organs out of the way and I swear that I’ve felt its little fingers pushing at my pelvic bone. But somehow, the head being visible makes it real. Really real.

There’s actually a little person coming out of me.

I don’t know that there’s anything weirder than that.

The doctor wants me to start pushing again.

I push with a small sense of relief—if she saw the head, this has got to be nearly over.

I let myself believe that for the next four or five contractions. After that, I feel my optimism fading. Apparently the head being visible means almost nothing.

I really can’t keep doing this.

The doctor yells at me to stop pushing, that I need to rest again.

I don’t fight her this time.

“It’s crowning. Want to feel?”

Chandler and I look at each other in disgust for a moment before we both reach down—this seems too gross to pass up.

Oh, my God, it’s a head. The top of the baby’s head is hanging out of my body and _I can feel it_.

“That’s weird. That’s weird!” I exclaim, grabbing Chandler’s hand once more.

The doctor tells me not to push, and I only half listen. My body is doing a lot of this on its own—I’m just along for the ride.

I can hear Chandler whispering in my ear, encouraging me, but I can’t focus on the words. I’m so tired.

I keep pushing. And pushing. And pushing.

It seems that a baby can crown for a lot longer than one would expect.

Part of me feels very detached from all this right now, and maybe I am. Maybe my brain is thinking about this clinically because that’s the only way to get through an ordeal like this.

You can’t focus on the whole because that’s just too much to process. You have to break it down into bits and pieces and moments.

The doctor tells me she wants me to push harder now, to give her more.

I see spots and I’m suddenly excessively angry—isn’t that what I’ve been doing for hours? I’m not sure what I say to her, but it probably comes out like a death threat.

“You can do it,” Chandler whispers, pulling my legs back, leaning against my back a little to help me push.

I love this man.

“Push!” Somehow, I _do_ push harder. I don’t know how, but I do.

All sound around me is gone.

All I can do is push.

I hear Chandler telling me to breathe, but I can’t. I need it to push.

My entire body strains, and I feel like I’m about to explode.

I gasp in air finally, panting as I yell, the verbal release actually feels like it’s helping.

“Stop pushing.”

I collapse against Chandler as the doctor smiles at us. “The head’s out. Just gonna clean the gook out of its nose and mouth, and then you can push some more.”

I think I do actually start crying; it’s still not over? “I still have to get the shoulders out?” I feel like I have nothing left to give. My body is literally on the verge of collapse. The doctor tells me that the rest of the baby usually comes out faster once the head’s out, but I don’t think I believe her.

I feel another contraction tear through me, but I force myself to wait. Something clicks in my head—that’s my baby down there.

“Almost,” I whisper. “Almost.”

“I need another big push, Monica. You’re almost there. Your baby’s almost here. You ready?”

I nod, and the world around me slows down. I take a deep breath and lean forward, pushing. I feel Chandler’s hands tighten on my thighs, and I tighten my grip on his fingers.

All I can hear is my heartbeat.

I can feel Chandler’s voice rumbling through my back.

I push.

I feel like I can’t push anymore.

I take another breath and push anyway.

I close my eyes and scream. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Then I hear crying.

Chandler’s face is pressed next to mine; I open my eyes.

Dr. Rosen is smiling at us, holding up a baby.

Time goes back to normal.

There it is.

There _he_ is.

Our baby.

I do the most cliché thing in the world; I burst into tears.

A moment later, she puts him on my chest, still naked, the cord still connecting him to me.

I didn’t realize that actually happened; I thought it was one of those things that people made it up, but there he is.

I wrap my arms around him and weep, my body shaking. I look up at Chandler—he’s a mess. His hand comes out to stroke the baby’s head and he laughs in wonder.

“He’s so tiny,” he says.

“He’s perfect.”

Along with watching Jack and Erica come into the world and marrying Chandler, this is one of the best moments of my life.

I feel my heart breaking—I love this little guy so much.

He wiggles against me, his cries already gone, and I kiss the top of his head. I start to laugh.

“What?” Chandler asks, sniffling.

“He’s so gross,” I gasp out. I kiss his head again—he really is a sight right now, all covered in fluid and what looks like cottage cheese. “Oh, my God, he’s disgusting.” I’m laughing and crying at the same time, and even though my brand-new son is kind of gross at the moment, I love him so much.

I feel Chandler laugh behind me; he puts his hand gently on the baby’s back. His eyes open and he stares at us. “Hi, beautiful,” I whisper, and his eyes drift shut again.

“He’s exhausted, you know,” Chandler says to me. “It’s hard work forcing your way out of Mom.”

My breath hitches as I cry some more, and I pull the baby closer, wrapping my arms around him a little more.

“We need to get him cleaned up,” Dr. Rosen says softly, and I stare at her blankly for a few moments. She smiles at me and holds scissors out to Chandler. “Want to cut the cord?”

He looks unwilling to take his hand off the baby for a moment, but reaches for the scissors; I shift the baby a little so the doctor can finish clamping the cord, and then Chandler cuts it. I feel a little sad for a second—my baby’s no longer a part of me.

I reluctantly pass him off to the nurse and watch her take him to be cleaned and weighed, and feel such a sense of loss without him in my arms that I want to curl into a ball.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear this,” Dr. Rosen says, patting my arm, “but you’re going to need to push some more.”

My heart flies into my throat and I Chandler jumps to attention behind me. “What?!” he exclaims, sounding panicked.

“It’s okay! You just need to deliver the placenta.”

I laugh again, feeling my body relax marginally. “God, I thought you were going to tell me there was another one on its way.”

She laughs with me, shaking her head. “No, I’m pretty sure we would have seen that before now. I’m going to massage your uterus, though, if it doesn’t start to happen on its own, okay?”

I feel my lip curl up and before I can stop myself, I say, “The only person I want massaging my uterus is my husband.”

The doctor snickers as Chandler buries his face in my neck, his body shaking with laughter. “That’s your call. It might take longer to come out without help, but it’ll happen eventually. Also, along those lines, we usually have someone massage your uterus every couple of hours after birth to help it go back down to its normal size; it can be painful, but helpful. It’s also completely up to you.”

“No offense, honey,” Chandler says, wrapping his arms around me. “But I think I’m okay with someone else playing with your uterus right now.”

I smile, and look at my baby longingly. “When can I hold him again?” The nurse puts a little hat on his head and finishes wrapping him up. A few moments later, he’s back in my arms, and I sort of miss his naked, disgusting little body pressed against me. “When am I supposed to try nursing him?”

The doctor shrugs, rubbing his cheek with one finger. “Any time you want to. He’s your baby. Don’t worry if he’s not into it yet, though. It can sometimes take a few hours.”

I wiggle my arm a little, and Chandler reaches around my shoulder, helping push the gown out the way, down my arm, and I bring the baby to my breast. I pause for a moment, not really sure what to do; he scrunches up his face and not much else.

“Give him a chance,” the doctor says softly, probably already able to sense my distress at not being able to do this. “You’re both new at this.”

Chandler and I stare at him for a few minutes, as if everything hangs on this one moment. It might as well, at least with the way I’m feeling.

Finally, his mouth opens and I put my nipple in his mouth; he latches on and starts sucking.

“That’s my boy,” Chandler says, sounding kind of proud.

“You’re a pig,” I say softly, even as I nestle into him further.

“Well, there’s no doubting who he belongs to,” he tells me, kissing my cheek, and I roll my eyes at the doctor. “How does it feel?”

I just shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I can process it.”

“How are you feeling?”

That’s a loaded question. “Tired. Sore. Happy.” I feel tears well up in my eyes again; I’m so overcome by just everything that I can’t express myself. “So many things. How are you?”

“Overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. God, he’s beautiful.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything more fascinating than my son nursing at my breast. All I can do is nod. “He really is. He looks just like you.”

“Maybe he’ll grow out of it.”

“I hope not.” Maybe he will, but if our son grows up looking like his father, I’ll be happy.

“Seven pounds, eleven ounces, nineteen and a half inches long, born at 7:08am on July 19,” the nurse says, walking over to us. “Do we have a name?”

Chandler and I look at each other for a moment—we more or less settled on names a few days ago. We look back at the nurse; “William,” I say, and I hear Chandler echo it beside me. I whip my head back to him and start to laugh.

“What’s funny?” Dr. Rosen asks as the nurse writes down his name.

“That wasn’t the name we decided on,” Chandler tells her, chuckling.

“We haven’t even mentioned that name in months,” I add. “But, he just looks…”

“Like a William,” Chandler finishes.

“William Charles Bing,” I say to my son, still nursing quietly. “Hi.”

“That’s a fancy name for such a little guy,” the nurse says, smiling at us. “You’re sure?”

“Completely,” Chandler answers.

I stroke the baby’s—William’s—head for a few minutes, Chandler’s chin on my shoulder. “Can we speed up the whole placenta thing?” I finally ask. “I’m kind of ready to be done with that part.”

“Sure. If you’re still opposed to anyone but your husband massaging your uterus—” Chandler chuckles in my ear, his mind automatically thinking dirty thoughts. “We can give you a shot to speed it up.”

“Shot, please,” I say instantly, and a few moments later the nurse is swabbing my thigh, injecting me. The doctor resumes her position at my feet.

“This should only be a few minutes. After that, we’ll get you cleaned up and bring you to recovery. And, I’m not sure, but I _think_ you still have a gaggle of people out there, waiting to hear all about Baby Bing.”

“God, I completely forgot about that,” I say, and I see Chandler nod.

“I’ll go tell them. In a minute.”

I mostly manage to ignore the contractions I feel again, though they’re significantly gentler than just a few minutes ago. Within minutes, the placenta is held up for us both to see, and Chandler grimaces, looking a little nauseated.

Doesn’t do much for me, either.

The nurse explains that I need to be stitched up, that I’ll need to be numbed a little for it, and I just nod; it doesn’t matter. I can deal with the pain. I have my son.

“All right—let’s get you back to your room. You’re going to walk, okay?”

I look at the doctor for a second and nod, though it doesn’t occur to me until I’m in a standing position that I haven’t actually been on my feet since late last night. Chandler keeps me upright as we walk down the hall to my room, the doctor finally excusing herself to look in on another patient, promising she’ll be back to check on us.

I finally hand the baby to Chandler, who has been extraordinarily patient as he waits to get his hands on his son, and sit down—very, _very_—carefully. I love watching Chandler with his kids—the look of pure, unadulterated love and adoration on his face almost too much to take sometimes.

He’s such a good father.

“Honey?”

He looks up at me for a second, grinning, before his attention returns to the baby. “Yeah?”

“Can you bring Jack and Erica in here first? I’m sure it’ll ruffle everyone else’s feathers, but I just want the twins to meet the baby first.”

“Of course. You think your parents even have them here yet, though?” He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry—stupid question.” He gently passes William back to me, kissing my forehead. I tilt my head up to him, and he kisses me gently, reverently. “I love you,” he whispers. “Both of you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

William’s eyes are open, unfocused, but mostly looking in my direction. “Hi, sweetheart,” I whisper, tears sliding down my cheeks once more as we’re alone for the first time, and I’m completely at a loss for words. “It’s funny that I can’t think of anything to say right now, when all I did was bombard you with conversation when you were in my belly. I love you. I love you so much. I will love you until the day I die. Your big brother and sister…you’re going to have so much fun with them. They’ll help you be a baby. They’re silly but they’ll love you, too. And your daddy…well, I think you already know about him. You know he’s silly and funny, and that he will go to the end of the earth to make sure you’re happy.” My words catch in my throat as my new son sleeps against my chest.

I look up a few minutes later when I hear the door open, my face breaking out into a grin when I see Jack and Erica in their father’s arms; their faces light up when they see me.

“Hi, babies.”

“Hi!” Erica exclaims as Chandler brings them over to the bed, and they wiggle out of his arms, plopping down next to me. I reach out a hand, stroking first Jack’s hair, then Erica’s, and my heart feels fuller than I ever thought it could.

I smile up at Chandler, and he has tears in his eyes. “You were right,” I whisper.

“About what?”

“I don’t love him more; I just love them all differently.”

He winks at me, putting a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders. “Jack, Erica…this is your brother.”

Jack leans forward as I shift the baby in my arms, his little hand stretching out to William. “Be gentle,” I say, shifting the baby closer. He delicately taps a finger against the baby’s leg, looking at him intently. Not to be left out, Erica crawls onto my legs, stretching herself up to look at him.

“I can’t believe we have three of these things,” Chandler says softly, and I laugh a little.

“I know. What have we gotten ourselves into? Can you say ‘hi’ to William?” They both look up at me, confused, so I point to the baby. “This is your brother, William. Can you say ‘William’?”

I see Jack trying to form the word, his little bottom lip quivering as he tries to for the letter “W” on purpose. “William,” I say to him, slowly, sounding it out.

“Hi,” Erica says, softer this time, and I’m impressed at her restraint. Without me even noticing, she’s moved to straddle my thighs, her hand on the baby’s arm.

“He’s your little brother,” I say to her, and she looks up, recognizing the word “brother.”

“Bahbuh?” she asks, pointing at Jack.

“That’s right, Eri,” Chandler says, pointing at Jack. “Brother.” He points to William. “Brother.”

“William,” I add, wanting to get them used to his name. Hell, wanting to get _myself_ used to his name.

Jack makes a face, unable to get the hang of the new name right now. But he stands up and moves next to his sister, bending over the baby and giving him a kiss.

Just when I thought I couldn’t cry any harder. I look up at Chandler—he isn’t doing much better.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you, too.”


	28. Chapter 28

Watching my fifteen-month-old twins interact with my hour-old son is just about the most perfect thing in the world. I don’t know if they completely understand who he is or that he’s coming home with us, but so far, they seem completely fascinated by him.

William.

Wow.

He’s here; he has a name. He’s real.

He’s sleeping in my arms; he looks so peaceful.

I know this is just the calm before the storm. As soon as he recovers from the harrowing experience of being born, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to give us hell.

But he looks so innocent right now, his face still wrinkled, his tiny arms stretching about occasionally, it’s easy to let myself believe he’ll never cause any sort of trouble.

I tear my eyes away for a moment to look at Monica; her eyes are misty with tears as she watches us, Jack and Erica each cuddled under an arm.

I’m sure those two won’t be thrilled with how much attention will have to go to the baby, or that Mommy won’t be able to focus just on them for a while. They’re still very needy—in the best way possible—and it’s going to be interesting to see how we handle this.

“How’d you manage to get the twins in here without everyone else?” Monica finally asks.

I knew when she made the request that it wouldn’t be easy—_everybody_ wants to see her and the baby, and who could blame them? “I just told them it’s what you wanted. I have no problem using the my-wife-just-had-a-baby-and-can-have-whatever-she-wants card. I asked them to give us fifteen or twenty minutes before they storm the beach.”

Monica nods, wrapping her arms a little tighter around the twins. “So, realistically, that means maybe ten minutes.”

“Right,” I answer, bending down and kissing William’s head.

“So, any second now…”

“Pretty much.”

We both glance at the door, almost expecting to see everyone we know standing outside of it, chomping at the bit, but all is quiet for the moment.

I look back to my brand-new son, marveling at him. He’s so perfect. I can’t believe I helped make him.

I think that’s the part that’s trippiest of all—I actually helped create a life. It was weird enough thinking about it when Monica was pregnant, but now…he’s a tiny little person, out in the real world. He’s a mix of me and Monica.

God—all of my stupid quirks and insecurities could be a part of this little guy. At least Jack and Erica have a chance; all I’m doing is _raising_ them.

I sigh a little bit. Like “only” raising them is any better. At least we love our kids. I’m sure we’ll manage to screw them up somehow, but at least, if nothing else, we’ll do it with love.

It’s hard to believe that a little over a year ago we didn’t even have one. Now we’re the parents of three babies. _Three_. Part of me feels like I should be panicking right now, but…I just can’t. I love them so much; I can’t imagine my life without them. Jack and Erica make everything so interesting, so much better, even when they’re crabby or screaming or harassing each other.

I’m sure William will be happy to add to the mix, as soon as he’s a little more cognizant of the world around him.

Hell…I’m sure it’ll just be a matter of days before he adds his own particular brand of crazy to the Bing family.

I can’t wait.

I’ve always wanted a big family; I’m sure a lot of that stems from being an only child. I used my imagination a lot and became pretty good at doing things on my own, but I always wondered what it’d be like to have brothers and sisters. I knew that, if I were to procreate one day, I wanted to have a bunch of them.

When Monica and I decided to adopt, well…I knew that I wanted to adopt a bunch of them.

Now, I just have a bunch of them.

There’s literally no difference in how I feel about them, either. I did wonder about that, even though I told Monica she wouldn’t love William more than the twins. Maybe it’s an issue for some people, but for me, for us, biology really doesn’t matter. They’re our kids and we love them.

Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love them more, I’m wrong. Every single second my heart feels like it’s expanding, creating more space for more love.

And I really don’t care how cheesy it sounds.

I hear chattering and look back to my wife and twins—they’re both standing up now, leaning against Monica, babbling to her at a rapid pace. To her credit, she nods along, looking back and forth between them like a tennis match, asking questions, responding to what they’re saying, looking terribly interested in the whole thing.

God help us when they’re able to communicate properly.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this,” I say suddenly. “But you were absolutely amazing. I don’t know how you did it.”

She looks up at me, an eyebrow quirking. “Didn’t really have a choice—he was gonna come out one way or another.”

“Still…it was incredible. I just…” I don’t know how to tell my wife how proud I am of her, of her body and what it can do. I watched Erica give birth to the twins and it was pretty intense, but nothing prepared me for seeing Monica go through it.

She looks back to the twins, and I swear she’s blushing. “So, uh…what time did my parents get here?”

I sigh and shake my head. “Your mom said it was ‘nearly seven’ when they showed up.”

“Which means it was probably closer to six,” she finishes, looking exasperated. She pulls the twins in for a hug. “Oh, my poor babies. You must be exhausted. Did Nana and Grandpa let you sleep at all?”

“If it’s any consolation,” I say, smiling down at William as he starts to make adorable baby noises, “your parents look beat. I doubt they slept more than an hour or two.”

Monica kisses Erica and Jack, then smiles at me. “That helps actually, yes.”

There’s a tap at the door a moment before it swings open, and almost everyone we know piles into the room. Pregnant Phoebe leads the way, pulling Mike with her. Ross and Rachel squeeze in right behind them, grinning from ear to ear, Joey almost knocking them out of the way to get into the room. Jack and Judy slip in, immediately followed by my parents.

My father, surprisingly, has gone super sedate for the occasion, hair pulled back, khaki pants, pastel shirt, pearls, looking every inch like a typical grandmother. It’s weird seeing him that way, but I appreciate the gesture.

My mom, also in a nod to the occasion, only has part of her breasts hanging out.

Everyone looks over at Monica for a moment before crowding around me, trying to get a look at our son.

“He’s so beautiful,” my dad whispers, stroking his head gently. “He looks just like you when you were a baby.”

“I don’t see it,” I answer. “He’s pretty cute, though, isn’t he?”

I’m greeted with a chorus of “awww,” and all I can do is shake my head as I pass him off to my father. The crowd around me instantly dissolves, following the baby. I move over to Monica’s bed and sit on the edge, pulling Erica into my lap.

“You know, he’s not gonna get up and leave on his own. You can pass him around without crowding around him,” Monica tells them, then looks over at Jack. “You’d think they’d never seen a baby before,” she says, kissing his nose.

The group _does_ manage to take the hint, though, and spreads out a little, fanning out around the hospital bed. Joey stands next to me, bending over for a moment to kiss Erica’s head. She grins up at him and says, “Hi!”

“Hi, Erica. How are you?”

She spreads out her fingers, palms up, and starts talking nonsensically, no doubt telling her uncle Joey all about her night with her grandparents and her new brother. Joey nods along, looking impressed at what she has to say, throwing in the occasional, “mmhmm.”

“That’s amazing, Erica. Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

She buries her face in my chest for a moment, suddenly looking shy, but I know she’s just flirting. Joey holds his hands for her, and she tilts her body toward him, going willingly into his arms.

“You know, she’s better at flirting than I am?” Joey asks, kissing her cheek.

“She’s cuter than you, too,” Monica tells him matter-of-factly, and I notice that Mike has already confiscated Jack, who truly looks thrilled to be chatting with his uncle. It’s tough having the world’s most attractive children.

Joey tries to look offended, but just nods in agreement when Erica bats her eyelashes at him.

I look over his shoulder, sliding my arm around Monica, trying to keep tabs on my new son; my mother has him for now. Looking down at him adoringly, she asks, “What’s his name?”

“William,” Monica answers. “William Charles Bing.”

My father looks up at us, startled, tears filling the corners of his eyes a moment later. “Thank you,” he whispers, his hand coming out to squeeze mine, and I try to swallow around the lump in my throat. I just shrug and shuffle my foot; Monica’s arm goes around my waist, leaning her head against my side.

Judy takes him next, immediately kissing his little forehead and Jack leans over them, playing with William’s tiny fingers. The baby makes a tiny noise of protest for a moment before settling back into slumber. I look over at Joey, who’s trying to talk to Erica; Erica has her eyes trained on her new brother, watching his progress intently. I nudge Monica and gesture to our daughter.

“I think somebody’s already protective of her little brother,” she whispers.

“It’s okay, Eri,” I say, and she looks at me for a second before going back to her brother. “We won’t let anyone hurt William.”

“Bahbah,” she says, holding out her hand toward him.

“Is she saying ‘brother’?” Joey asks, grinning.

“She’s trying,” I answer. “Jack’s almost got it, too. Don’t you, buddy?”

Little Jack turns to us at the sound of his name, his eyes wide. Monica tickles his foot and points to William. “Who is that?”

He grins, his nose scrunching up as he follows where Monica’s hand is pointing. “Bahbah!”

Rachel leans against Ross’s shoulder, almost in tears. “Oh! That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Rooooooss!”

Ross makes his face carefully blank, reaching to pat her arm.

“What?” Phoebe asks, looking confused.

“I think someone has baby fever,” Ross answers. “Too many pregnant women at one time.”

“I _do not_ have baby fever,” Rachel says indignantly. “I just want another baby. That’s not the same thing at all.”

“Can we talk about this later, please? Our nephew was _just _born.”

“Oh, please. Monica and Chandler were trying to get pregnant the day Emma was born!”

I look down at Monica, who makes a face but says nothing. What can we say, really? We _were_ trying get to pregnant then.

I watch my son get passed to Rachel, who has tears in her eyes as she smiles down at him, and it occurs to me how odd it is to say that “we” were trying to get pregnant. I was definitely trying to get her pregnant, and she definitely spent the last forty weeks of her life pregnant, but there was no “we” in that part of the process. But the entire time, it was “we’re trying to get pregnant,” or “we’re in our second trimester.” I don’t know—maybe that’s part and parcel with being a couple who really wants a child, but I think it’s giving me a lot more credit than I deserve.

Ross has the baby now, though Rachel keeps her hand on him, her head on Ross’s shoulder as they both gaze down at him.

“He’s so beautiful,” Rachel says, caressing his little arm.

I hear Monica sniffle a little, and I look down at her, giving her a squeeze. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect,” she answers, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “But how long do you think it’ll be before Rachel’s pregnant again?” she asks in a whisper.

I chuckle and kiss the top of her head. “By Christmas at the latest.”

The baby moves over to Phoebe, who bounces him gently, Mike smiling at him over her shoulder. Jack stretches out a hand, placing it on William’s leg. “Bahbah,” he tells Mike, his voice very serious.

“That is definitely your brother,” Mike answers. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Jack grins and ducks his face; his hand remains on the baby, though.

“When do I get a baby named after me?” Phoebe asks, keeping her eyes on William.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Well, each of your boys is named after someone’s father, and Erica’s middle name is Josephine. When’s my turn?”

“Maybe when you can keep a secret for us for months instead of your first instinct being to trick us into going public with our relationship,” Monica answers, her voice low. Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe she’s just genuinely shocked that Phoebe would ask that, but she sounds less than thrilled.

Mike’s arm slides around Phoebe’s shoulders. “Maybe not the time.”

Phoebe shrugs, looking mildly oblivious. “Seemed like a valid question.”

I just shake my head; I’ll chalk this one up to pregnancy brain.

“You ready for your turn, Uncle Joey?” Phoebe asks, carefully holding the baby out to him, and I can tell that it takes everything in Monica’s power not to reach up and grab him back.

Joey jostles Erica, who briefly turns her attention to him. “What do you think? Think I can hold your brother for a minute?” He takes her silence as consent and gently places her on the bed next to her mother. He takes William from Phoebe’s outstretched arms, pulling him close, and I’m struck once again by just how comfortable he looks holding a baby, especially for someone who has very little interest in children of his own.

Erica stands up, stretching to see William, and Monica grabs her around her waist so she can’t tip forward. “Mama,” she whines, bouncing up and down a little.

Monica gives me a look and I shrug—who knew?

“It’s okay, honey,” she says, pulling Erica against her side. “You can see him again in a minute. If you sit on Mama’s lap, we can hold him together.

She understands enough of that sentence to scramble onto Monica’s lap, waiting.

“They must really love him,” my father says suddenly, and I smile up at him.

“It seems that way. Let’s just hope they feel the same way when he’s up all night crying.”

“Are they all sharing a room?” Judy asks, and I can’t tell if she’s curious, or somehow disapproving.

Monica just shrugs, kissing the top of Erica’s head. “That’s where his crib is for now, but we’ll have to give it a day or two to see how it works out. He might spend a lot of time in our room at first, anyway. The twins certainly did the first couple of months.”

Erica whines again, looking up at Joey holding William. “Erica! You get to live with him. I promise you’ll see him again.”

“That’s okay,” Joey answers, leaning down to pass the baby back to Monica. “It’s sweet that she wants to see him.”

Monica carefully arranges her arms around Erica as Joey puts William in her arms; Erica leans in close, gently putting her chubby little hand on his.

The amount of cuteness actually makes me weak. I pull the camera out of my pocket, aiming it at the three of them, taking pictures. Monica doesn’t even seem to notice. Erica looks up at her mother and grins; Monica just smiles back. “I know. You’re his big sister. That’s an important job. You’re going to have to help Mama take care of him, okay?”

“Tay,” she answers, looking back at William. Jack leans forward suddenly, almost ripping himself out of Mike’s arms before he carefully lowers him to the bed. He sits on Monica’s legs, scooting close, so he can lean over the baby as well.

I’m going to have to buy stock in film with this sort of action.

The door opens again and I look over my shoulder, smiling at Dr. Rosen as she walks over to the bed. Joey gives her a double a take, and I watch as his posture changes from “Uncle” Joey to “I’m going to hit on you” Joey. “Hey. I don’t think we met last night. I’m Joey Tribbiani. You probably recognize me from Days of Our Lives.” He holds out his hand to her, ignoring the groans from the rest of the room. “How _you_ doin’?”

To her credit, the doctor just takes his hand for a moment, lifting one eyebrow at him, staring. Joey’s face goes slack and she tilts her head at him slightly.

“Whoa,” Joey says finally, dropping her hand.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she answers. “And I’m married, but that was fun. Thanks.”

I bury my face in Monica’s hair, trying to stifle my laughter—it’s not every day I get to see Joey not only shot down, but bested. That really _was_ fun.

She just smiles at us, turning her attention to Monica. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Kind of tired. But mostly okay.”

“Good. We’ll let your family visit for a little while longer, but after that I want you try to get some rest, okay? Let the hospital take care of William while you can. I promise we won’t break him.”

“But we just got here,” Rachel says, already protesting.

“And so did the baby, and you see how exhausted he is already. Give them a chance to recover.”

Big Jack starts herding everyone out of the room, ignoring the noises of protest from every angle. “You heard the woman—let my little girl rest.” I can’t help but be impressed—Jack Geller is a man to be reckoned with when it comes to his daughter. Once the room is cleared, he over to the bed, kissing Monica’s forehead. “He’s beautiful, honey.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispers, glancing up at him, smiling at him widely. He gives each of his grandchildren a kiss, claps me on the back, then walks out the door.

“Your dad gets stuff done,” Dr. Rosen says, sounding impressed.

“When he needs to,” Monica answers as the doctor sits on the edge of the bed.

“All right. The hospital’s policy is to keep new mothers here for at least twelve hours after giving birth, pending any complications. You’ll get the standard checkup, and as long as everything looks good, you’ll be set. But, since the twelve hour hold will put your release after seven tonight, it might just be easiest to stay here. You’ll probably be passed out by then, anyway.”

Monica looks up at me for a second, tears in her eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if this is going to be her body’s go-to for a while. “But…I don’t want to stay here tonight. I want to go home now.”

“Well, you can’t. Of course, you _can_ check out early against medical advice, but I doubt that a single one of your friends or family will actually drive you home.”

This doctor is good.

“But I don’t want to be away from my family for another night.”

She pats Monica’s leg sympathetically. “I know. I’m sure they don’t want you to be away from them, either. And if you really want to go home at seven tonight, provided all is well, we won’t stop you. But it’ll do you a world of good.”

“Can Chandler stay?”

“Officially? He’s not really supposed to be here overnight. Unofficially...well, he wouldn’t be the first father to ‘nod off’ while hanging out with mom. Unfortunately, the Wonder Twins _won’t_ be able to stay.”

Monica looks truly distressed at the thought of another night away from the twins; I put my arm around her shoulders, hugging her. “Think about it, Mon. They usually go to bed around seven or eight. Even if you were released right at seven, we wouldn’t get out of here until closer to eight, and if they were still up by that point…well, you can just imagine the car ride home. I’m sure your parents will be happy to take them again for the night.” Monica’s lip curls for just a moment, and I try to swallow a laugh. “My parents?” She shrugs a little, seemingly more convinced by that. “We could always give them one of the house keys. The twins could stay in their own beds.”

She sighs heavily, tightening her grip on Erica and William, leaning forward to kiss the top of Jack’s head. “Fine. But they can stay for a while longer, right?”

Dr. Rosen just nods in understanding. “Of course. I’ll send a nurse back in a couple of hours to check on you. Get some sleep, if it all possible.” She looks at our three children and laughs a little. “You’re gonna need it.”


	29. Chapter 29

I haven’t let my husband touch me in months—nothing outside of the normal, casual touches that occur between people, at least.

I’ve kissed him from time to time, though nothing overly romantic, and on the occasions when I actually do wake up next to him in bed, we’re usually wrapped around each other, but other than that…nothing.

The first six weeks after William was born, it was easy—neither of us thought much about it, really. I certainly wasn’t medically cleared for sex, and I could tell my body was nowhere _near_ ready for it. Even after my doctor gave me the okay, I held off. I just didn’t feel ready.

And Chandler never pushed me; he seemed to understand my exhaustion. He’s been pretty wiped, too.

But I know he’s been feeling…anxious lately.

It’s been three months since our baby was born—part of me feels that way, too.

But…I just can’t.

I know it must be driving him crazy.

And then I feel worse about it, knowing he’s going without.

He’s so patient with me, so good to me, but…

It’s so stupid.

I’m scared to take my clothes off in front of him now.

I haven’t been naked in front of him since just after William was born.

I want to blame it on postpartum depression, and for a little while, I could.

Now it’s just insecurity. Insecurities I didn’t realize I have, or at least thought I’d gotten over a long time ago.

I just look so different now. I haven’t been able to get back into the shape I was in a year ago—who has that kind of time? I have twin toddlers who are now a year and a half old, and a three month old who may be the fussiest baby ever to exist. I’m up with him constantly because it feels like he’s always crying. I haven’t been able to go back to work yet because he doesn’t seem to be able to handle being around other people.

It’s not as if Chandler doesn’t help. He tries to. I’ve just been using my son’s fussiness as an excuse to avoid my husband.

I’m a horrible person.

But William truly is a whole different can of worms. I don’t think I realized just how lucky we got with Jack and Erica until I spent a week with this one. I think he cried more in his first seven days of life than the twins did in their entire first month combined.

I’m sure the fact that I’m stressed and tense isn’t helping him. It doesn’t seem to be doing much for the twins, who now go to their father for almost everything.

Serves me right.

It breaks my heart, but it serves me right.

All of my attention goes to the baby, and I know Jack and Erica have to feel neglected, and that is the absolute last thing that I want, but I don’t know how to change it right now.

Today was the first semi-normal day we’ve had in a long time; we all went into Manhattan to visit Phoebe, Mike, and their baby, Amelia, who was just born a couple of weeks ago. The twins found her fascinating, the way they did when William was born.

The bloom has considerably worn off _that_ rose in the last few months—their little faces scrunch up whenever he starts to fuss, so I inevitably just take him into another room. Another reason I’m sure they feel like Mommy doesn’t care.

But after that, we brought our three to a pumpkin patch, which might have been the cutest thing in the world. Watching our two little people hobble from pumpkin to pumpkin, trying to pick up the big ones, did me a world of good.

Something else that did me a world a good—a sling.

It’s so simple, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it on my own. One of our neighbors stopped by the other day, though, and casually mentioned what she used to do when her baby would cry for hours on end.

A sling.

I immediately looked up different “sling” methods, hazards, what have you, and stuck him in one yesterday while we tooled around the house.

He seemed to like it.

So we gave it a whirl today.

Barely a peep out of the kid.

I haven’t felt this relaxed in months.

As an added bonus, when he got hungry, the trough was right there.

I think I actually smiled today. Repeatedly.

Sadly, just that is cause for celebration. I spend more time crying than anything else lately. I don’t necessarily feel depressed—just anxious. Mostly because I know that I’ll have to talk to Chandler about this. I’m sure he’ll tell me I’m overreacting, and logically, I know that I am. He loves me.

Again, logically, I know that.

I just can’t convince myself that it’s not all in my head.

William makes a disgruntled noise and I look down at him; he’s rubbing his face against my chest. Hungry again. The kid can eat.

Probably gets it from me.

I pull the curtain shut and sit down on the edge of our bed, pulling up my shirt and unsnapping my bra, his mouth latching onto me within moments. It’s amazing to watch. I know in this respect that I got incredibly lucky with him; some babies need to be convinced to eat.

Not mine, though. Not one of them.

Of course, if all the literature is to be believed, that’s probably going to change for the twins soon. They’ve already become pickier about what they’ll eat.

I see Chandler walk into the room out of the corner of my eye; I lift my head and smile at him for a moment before turning my attention back to the baby. The bed dips a bit as he sits next to me, his hand behind my back, next to my hip. His other hand gently strokes William’s head.

“Hey, little guy,” he says softly. William’s eyes flutter up to his father for a moment, his forehead wrinkled in concentration and we both chuckle a little.

“I know. Tell Daddy not to bother you while you’re eating,” I say, smiling.

“I think he just did. That’s quite the look he’s giving me right now.”

I glance up at Chandler, smirking a little. “He has your suction.”

He laughs, and I swear his cheeks turn just a little pink. “Well, it’s good to know I’ve passed my legacy on to someone.” He kisses my shoulder, his fingers coming up to trace the top of my breast. “Hard to believe that my funbags are this guy’s main source of nutrition.”

I feel my body tense, and I stand up, moving out of Chandler’s reach. “I should check on the twins,” I mumble, pulling the baby closer against me. I hear Chandler sigh behind me; he sounds so sad.

“Monica, are we going to talk about this?”

I pause, feeling my eyes fill with tears. “Talk about what?”

“About how you’ve been avoiding me. You won’t let me hug you, or kiss you, and God forbid I try to touch you in anyway. You keep running away from me.”

“That’s not true,” I tell him, even though I know I’m lying.

“Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

I didn’t see that one coming; I never thought he’d assume he’d done something wrong. I shake my head, watching a tear splash down on William’s little face. He doesn’t even flinch. “You didn’t do anything.”

All of a sudden he’s in front of me, his hands holding my face gently. His thumbs wipe away my tears, his face full of concern. “Honey…what’s wrong? Why are you so sad all the time?”

How do I explain this to him? He’s the one person in the world whose opinion of me really matters, and he’s also the only person who just loves me for me, who shouldn’t really care that I have a post-baby body.

He must see something on my face; he pulls me into his arms, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t fight it. I cry into his shoulder, partly because it feels so good to have his arms around me, and partly because I need this. “Monica, talk to me. Please…talk to me. Whatever this is, I want to make it better.” I feel him kiss the side of my head, his arms tightening around me. “I hate seeing you cry like this.”

“It’s just so stupid,” I whimper.

“Anything that has you this upset can’t be stupid,” he reassures me, and it makes me feel even worse. How can he be this understanding?

I look down at the baby—amazingly, he’s still nursing peacefully. I look back to Chandler; he looks so helpless and distraught. I feel myself cry even harder.

He leads me over to the bed, sitting me down, and kneels in front of me. “Please…talk to me.”

I shake my head. “I…don’t know…how…” is all I can get out in between sobs.

He puts his hands on my knees, squeezing them gently. “You’ve always been able to talk to me.”

“I’m a horrible wife,” I whisper, dropping my chin to my chest.

“No, you’re not! Why on earth would you say that?” He sounds genuinely astounded that I would even think it.

“You’re so good to me—you’re so patient, and sweet, and I know I’ve been a basket case.”

“Honey, you just had a baby—I think it takes a little while before you start to feel normal again.”

“And…” I try to swallow the lump in my throat and whisper, “we haven’t had sex since before William was born.” I peek up at him, watch his eyes grow wide.

“Is that what this is about? Because we haven’t had sex in a few months?”

I shrug, feeling stupid. “Partly. I mean, I know you’re probably all kinds of horny—”

“When am I not?” he asks, and I give a watery chuckle.

“But I haven’t been holding up my end of the bargain.”

“Monica…again…you _just_ had a baby. I know that things are going to take some time to get back to normal. It’s okay.”

I sniffle and look down; William’s starting to drift off. His mouth goes slack every so often before he wakes himself up enough to start at it again for a few moments.

“Is that why you won’t let me near you?” I just shrug and lift the baby to my shoulder, rubbing his back gently. “Do you think I’m going to jump you or something?”

“No,” I whisper. “Chandler, I told you this is stupid.”

“You said partly,” he says suddenly. “It’s only partly because we haven’t had sex for a while that you’re feeling like this. What’s the rest of it?”

I feel William’s body jump as he burps. I shift him in my arms and wipe off his face. “We should put him to bed,” I say softly.

“I’ve got him,” he answers, pulling the baby from my arms; I snap my bra back into place and tug my shirt back down as I kiss his forehead.

“Night night, sweetie,” I whisper. He snuffles for a moment, but stays asleep. I look up and Chandler’s mouth is suddenly on mine—gentle, but determined. I feel a shudder ripple through my body, my hands instinctively going to his arms to pull him a little closer.

“I love you,” he tells me, and I feel my heart constrict. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He leaves the room, and a moment later I can hear him through the monitor in the baby’s room across the hall. I cross my arms and lean against the window, pulling the curtain back just a little as I listen to Chandler read to our son. His voice soothes me as I try to find those happy feelings from earlier today.

I’m only partly successful.

I realize the monitor is silent; I feel Chandler’s fingertips on my waist and I jump away, almost as if I’ve been burned.

“Okay, seriously, Monica. What’s going on?” I turn to face him; he’s slumped on the bed, elbows on his knees. “You’re acting like I’m going to hit you.”

I hang my head, ashamed. “Chandler…it’s not you. This is all me.”

“_What_ is all you? Why are you so freaked out?”

I take a deep breath and spit it out, like pulling off a bandage. “I’m afraid to be naked.”

Aside from the white noise of the baby monitors, the room is completely silent. I turn away, tears brimming in my eyes again.

A moment later, I feel Chandler’s hands on my waist again, and even though I tense up, I let him slide his arms around me. He pulls me tight against him, his chin resting on my shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

“I look…my body is…everything’s so different now.” I grab onto his fingers, squeezing. “I don’t know how else to describe it. Everything about my body is different now.”

“So?”

“So?! What do you mean, ‘so?’”

“So your body looks different. You carried a baby around for nine months; I’d be surprised if things _didn’t_ change.” He kisses my neck and sighs. “But I take it you’re not that okay with it.”

“I want to be. I’m trying to be, but…I look weird.”

“Does it make any difference to you at all if I tell you I think you look beautiful?”

I shrug; I want it to. “You haven’t seen me.”

“Maybe not, but I’d love to if you’d give me the chance.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would. I told you years ago, Mon—balloon up or shrink down and it doesn’t matter to me. You are the love of my life—the physical stuff doesn’t matter.”

“It _has_ to matter to you a little bit.”

I feel him shake his head as he gives me another squeeze. “It doesn’t. If it’s upsetting you, then yes, it upsets me, but I love _you_. The whole package. I loved every single moment of your pregnancy and every change your body went through. This is part of that.”

I turn in his arms, burrowing myself into him. I really, _really_ want to believe him. “I don’t want you to think I’m ugly.”

“I won’t. Not ever.”

I want to bring up Thanksgiving all those years ago, but I don’t—it’s not fair to hold that over his head his whole life.

“So, this is why you barely let me even kiss you?”

I nod, clutching his t-shirt in my fists. “Yeah. Please don’t think that I don’t want you—I do. I miss you touching me and kissing me. But I’m afraid if we do that, it’ll lead to clothes coming off and—”

“One step at a time, Mon. I just want you to be comfortable with me again. That’s all that matters. We’ll work on it, okay? We’ll start jogging again if getting back into shape is what you want to do, or we’ll find something else. We’ll do it together.”

“You’d be willing to wait that long to have sex again?”

“Yes. I’m serious—all that matters is you being comfortable.”

I feel myself relax against him a little; I’ve missed this so much. “You don’t think I’m stupid for feeling this way?”

“I think you’re completely human. Just…don’t hide it from me, okay? I want to be there for you, but I can’t if you shut me out.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

We’re silent for a while. I can hear Erica through the monitor, making noises in her sleep, snoring occasionally. I really didn’t know that having a baby was going to be like this. I remember telling Chandler that I was okay with my body changing, even though I wasn’t sure that he was. Maybe I was lying to myself. Maybe I truly believed it at that point.

Or maybe I’m still just an insecure teenager who was picked on too many times growing up. Maybe I’m afraid of going back to being that overweight, even though I know I’m nowhere near that right now.

I don’t know—maybe it’s just the fear of my husband reacting badly to my body that makes me not okay with the changes it’s been through. There was a point late in my pregnancy when I had a lot of the same concerns and he was quick to reassure me, to show me how beautiful and desirable he thought me to be.

Maybe I should try believing in him.

“Can I ask a favor?” His voice cuts through my reverie and I tighten my arms around him.

“Sure.”

“Can we just…lie in bed together for a while? Nothing has to happen, but I miss holding you. I just want to be near you.”

I take a deep breath and nod. I take a step away from him, reaching under my shirt and unhooking my bra. I pull it out through my sleeves and toss it in the hamper; Chandler stares at me, smiling a little.

“I wish you could understand how hot it is to watch a woman do that.” I reach out and grab his fingers, swinging them in between us for a moment. Climbing into bed with my own husband feels awkward.

He steps into me and leans down, kissing me. He gives me a little tug toward the bed and slides in between the covers. Before I can over-think it, I slide in next to him. He pulls me into him and I sigh as our bodies mold together, fitting together perfectly.

Just like always.

He reaches over and turns off the bedside light, then strokes my back and kisses my forehead. “How was your day?” he asks me, and I can feel him smiling.

“It was good,” I tell him. “Took my kids to a pumpkin patch, watched their father act goofier than they do. Pretty standard, really.”

“I’m not goofier than a couple of eighteen-month-olds.” I remain silent. “Okay, I’m not _always_ goofier than a couple of eighteen-month-olds.”

I chuckle a little, closing my eyes, breathing him in. I really missed this. “Can you believe it’s almost Halloween again? I don’t even know what to dress them up as.”

“Scarecrow, Cowardly Lion, and Tin Man?”

“You joke, but that just might happen.” I feel his hand at the waistband of my pajama pants, one finger stroking the small of my back. My insides quiver.

“I would _never_ joke about the kids’ Halloween costumes.”

I shift myself into him a little. “Hey, Chandler?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you kiss me?’

That’s all I have say; he presses his lips against mine and I moan softly. I feel his fingers push into my spine a little. I slide my hand up his back, rubbing him gently.

I pull away a few minutes later, gasping. “You okay?” he whispers, his lips still close to mine. I just nod, moving my hand up to the back of his neck, pulling his mouth back to mine. He turns a little, my back pushing into the mattress, his body half-draped over mine and I whimper quietly. I’d forgotten how much I love the feel of his body on mine. My leg slides over his, my foot rubbing his calf.

His hand moves to my side, his fingers slipping under my shirt, and my entire body tenses, my lips pulling away from his inadvertently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand back down to my hip.

I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to relax. “It’s all right,” I finally say.

“No, I was pushing you.”

“No, you weren’t. You were just doing what we’ve always done. It’s okay.” I caress his cheek, trying to get the worried look off his face. “Really.” I swallow, and even though my hands feel a little shaky, I grab the bottom of my shirt and start to pull it up.

His hands cover mine, stilling my motions. “You don’t have to do this, Monica. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I love you no matter what.”

“I think I need to prove something to myself,” I tell him. “I’ll let you know if it’s too much.” I take another deep breath and pull my shirt over my head, dropping it somewhere on the floor. Even in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the curtains, I see his pupils dilate before he looks below my neck.

I wait.

A few moments later, he pulls his own shirt off, settling his body against mine, and I feel a little surprised. “Don’t you want to…”

“What? Stare at you and make you feel self-conscious? I’m good.” I’m silenced by his lips on mine, his hands roaming across my back, and in this moment, I can’t remember why I was so worried about him seeing me.

He moves his lips to my neck, nipping my skin. “Let me know if you need me to stop.” I nod, and he begins a slow descent down my body. He trails his lips across my clavicle before moving down my chest, slowing as he reaches my breasts. He kisses them gently, his hands cupping them, and it’s so sweet that I think I could cry. “So, how does this work?”

My eyes open slowly. “Huh?”

He traces a finger gently over my nipple, and I shiver from the sensation. “The whole breast milk situation. It’s not going to shoot me in the eye, is it?”

I laugh a little, and his eyes follow the motions of my chest. “It shouldn’t. It’s mostly contained to William and his needs. Just don’t suck on them and you should be fine.”

“And if I _do_ suck on them?”

“I think your son will be pretty pissed off that Dad’s eating his food.”

“Ooo. Don’t want to face that kind of wrath.”

I know what he’s doing, and I love him even more for it. He’s distracting me, making me laugh, trying to make things as normal as they can be.

He really is the best.

He smiles at me softly—he knows that I know—and continues with his mission. He takes his time at my breasts, exploring every inch of territory possible before moving down, very slowly, to my abdomen.

For a while, I don’t even think about it.

He takes his time worshipping me, kissing as much skin as he can get his lips on, and it’s amazing. And it’s not completely about sex. He’s just showing me how much he loves me, all of me.

He’s doing a very good job of it.

My body jerks and freezes up when he reaches my lower stomach, and he only hesitates for a moment before his lips continue to move across me.

“Can you believe William used to _live_ in there?” he mumbles to me, and I reach out and stroke his hair.

“When I see how big he’s gotten in the past three months, no. It’s hard to believe he was ever small enough to fit there.”

He grins up at me. “We didn’t produce a massive baby, Mon. He’s still pretty teeny.”

“Didn’t feel that way when he was coming out of me.”

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t.” His lips return to my stomach, moving across to my hips, and part of me still feels nervous, as if at any moment he’s going to back away from me, repulsed.

But he doesn’t. He just gently caresses my skin; I can feel him moaning from time to time. He looks so happy right now.

“This has been tough on you, too, hasn’t it?” I ask suddenly, and he reluctantly pulls his lips away, resting his chin on my stomach, a finger gently tracing my bellybutton.

“Yeah. I’ve just missed you. I thought I’d done something wrong, or maybe I wasn’t helping with William enough.”

“You’ve been wonderful. Don’t ever forget it.” I trace a finger down his nose to his lips, and he kisses the tip. “I love you, Chandler. Forever.”

He moves back up my body, settling against me once more, and I moan when I feel his erection press against me. I guess I have my answer as to whether or not I still turn him on. He kisses me again, his lips attacking mine a little less gently now. I feel his fingers at the edge of my pajamas, and I don’t stop him when he slides his fingers under my panties; he avoids making contact, but it feels pretty good anyway.

His fingers brush across me and it feels like a bolt of lightning. My hips jerk and I gasp into his mouth; he moves his hand instantly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I pant. “Yeah. I’m just a little…sensitive.”

“I can stop.”

“Just…go slow.”

His fingers move across me, lighter this time, and my body doesn’t react quite as violently.

“I missed you,” he whispers, and a tear leaks out of the corner of my eye.

“I missed you, too.”

A whimper filters out of the monitor and we both pause, waiting. William snuffles and whines and I hold my breath.

“Maybe he’ll go back to sleep,” Chandler says hopefully. He might—it’s happened once or twice. A few moments later, the whine turns into a full-fledge cry, and Chandler presses his head against my shoulder for a moment.

“Or not,” I say, my body sagging into the bed.

“Cock blocked,” he says, kissing my neck and sitting up. “By my own son.”

I put my hands over my face and laugh. “Figures.” I start to sit up, but Chandler puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll check on him.” He winces a little as he climbs out of bed, bent at the waist just a bit. He makes a face at me and I try to stifle my laughter as he staggers across the hall.

I can hear him through the monitor, talking to the baby as he pulls him out of his crib, gently shushing him as he changes the diaper.

William still sounds less than thrilled.

I look up as his cries fill the room a moment later to see Chandler standing in the doorway, the baby naked except for his diaper, curled against his father’s chest as he wails. Chandler sighs as he sits on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard; I curl into his side. Now that we’ve started back on the road to intimacy, I’m reluctant to lose contact with him.

“Little jerkpants just _knew_ his parents were in the middle of some stuff,” Chandler says, kissing his forehead.

I rub William’s back, trying to help soothe him. “Why is our baby naked?”

“Oh—I read an article recently about how the skin to skin contact can be very soothing to fussy babies. I was hoping it’d work for this one, especially since it seems to do wonders for his parents.”

His little cries are heartbreaking. I hold out my hands for him and Chandler shifts him into my arms, and I pull him to my chest. “All right, Chunky. Tell me you’re hungry again.” He latches on again, sucking greedily. “I know. It’s been tens of minutes since you last ate. The horror of it all.”

Chandler chuckles and whispers in my ear, “Cock blocked.”

“He certainly has great timing,” I agree, stroking William’s head, Chandler’s hand joining mine as we watch him eat. “It’s a good thing he’s cute.”

“I know. Otherwise, we’d have to send him back.”

I raise my eyebrow at him. “Certainly not the way he came.”

He cringes, shaking his head. “Ooo. No. Definitely not.” He kisses my cheek then rests his chin on my shoulder. “Are we okay?”

I turn my head, smiling at him gently. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re really good.”

He leans over, kissing me softly. “Good.”

I rest my head against his; I’ll probably need more convincing, and I’m sure I’ll have more moments where I backslide and feel horrible about myself, but for the first time I feel like it’s going to be okay. I have my husband. He’s not going anywhere.

I’m so thankful for that.


	30. Chapter 30

I’ve got my wife right where I want her.

Naked.

Naked and beneath me.

And she’s moaning. Oh, dear God is she moaning.

We haven’t done this in so long, I almost wonder if I forget how.

Yeah, no. Haven’t forgotten. Might embarrass myself in a few minutes, but I certainly think I remember how to do this.

It took us a while to come back to each other after William was born, but I think we’re finally there.

It’s very rare that we go through spurts where we don’t talk to each other, but when we do, it feels like catastrophe strikes. Maybe one day we’ll learn to just always communicate.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, sliding my hand down her leg, settling in between her thighs. She laughs a little, still not completely believing me. But I’ll take all night to convince her if I have to.

Or until one of the kids wakes up from their nap.

I had a big, romantic idea of how to do this with her our first time back at it, but we put the babies down for a nap before taking them out for Halloween tonight, and Monica slid her hand up my shirt, and it was all over from there.

I practically carried over my shoulder back to our room.

Just a couple of weeks ago, she’d barely let me touch her; half the time, she wouldn’t even look at me. I’ve spent most of that time since then doing everything in my power to convince her of how spectacular she is every chance I get. Doesn’t matter what’s going on—washing dishes, cooking dinner, feeding the kids—I’ll stop her and tell her how much I love her, how beautiful she is, and if she’s game, maybe a casual grope here and there.

I almost feel like I’m getting to know her all over again…and I don’t hate it.

I just have a hard time believing that she could ever think she’s anything less than wonderful, or that _I_ would ever think that. That’s probably why it never once occurred to me that she was feeling self-conscious about how she looked after giving birth. It makes me sound way too much like a “guy,” but I never thought about it. I don’t know that I ever really noticed that she looked terribly different after having the baby, and not in an “I don’t care” sort of way. Just that I thought she was incredibly sexy and amazing.

Yes; I thought my wife was incredibly sexy just after giving birth. I wasn’t going to proposition her at that moment, but there was something about the whole thing—the pregnancy, the glow, the hormones, the unbelievable strength and power in her body as she pushed out a baby, how she looks when she’s nursing—that made me want her more than I’ve ever wanted her.

Which isn’t surprising to me because I felt the exact same way the first time I saw her with the twins. That was not a feeling that ever really went away, either.

On Monica, motherhood is sexy as hell.

Even with William, who has spent much of his short life crying, and her complete exhaustion as she tries to console him…even with that…still glorious.

Not only was I shocked when she finally told me what the issue was, but I was disappointed in myself for not thinking about that. So, I dedicated all my spare moments to trying to make her feel good.

I think it’s been working.

The first time she took her shirt off for me…well, yes, I wanted to stare at her. I wanted to see her body and marvel in its capabilities. But I held off, and worshipped her instead.

Even knowing there were going to be difference didn’t mean I could really see them. I mean, her hips are a little wider now, and that may never change, but hell…that’s pretty all right in my book. Curves are good. Her boobs are bigger, but I think she knew that wouldn’t be an issue for me. I suppose it was her stomach area that had her most concerned, but honestly, all I can see is the place where our baby used to live.

We’ve had to backtrack a few times, but I think I have her mostly convinced that she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world.

She’s been letting me touch her, which has been amazing. Before now, we haven’t been completely naked together, but we’ve been doing a lot of no shirt, over-the-pants type stuff, which I happen to love. I’ve been making her orgasm, which, again, I _love_. But even at night, we’re falling asleep wrapped around each other again, and that might be the best part of all. She’s completely perfect, whether or not she believes it.

“I love you,” she whispers to me suddenly, and I’m afraid I might lose control. True; I’ve gone longer periods in my life without sex—hell, before Monica, it was rare that I _ever_ had steady sex. But once you have perfection, it’s hard to go without, and the last four months of celibacy suddenly seem like an eternity.

“I love you, too, Mon,” I tell her, moving my lips to her neck. She angles her head so that I have better access. “You sure you want to do this?” I stop my ministrations, looking up to her face, already glowing with a fine layer of sweat. “There’s no rush, you know. We don’t have to do this with one ear on the baby monitor.”

“Oh, come on.” She leans up, pressing a line of kisses down my throat. “We’re parents; playing beat the clock is part of the fun. You _know_ Jack’ll be out for a while, and Erica will at least be quiet in her crib. And William…well, William is the wildcard, so that’s going to be our challenge.”

I sigh as her lips work at my neck, her teeth grazing my flesh. “I wanted us to take our time with this.”

“Oh, honey. We _have _been taking our time. I think three months is more than enough time. Consider the last couple of weeks foreplay.”

Part of me wants to insist that we wait for a better time, but I honestly don’t know if any time will be better for while. And my libido is in agony, begging me to give in to her.

Aside from her telling me about her concerns, William’s been considerably less fussy. That sling she puts him in has cut his crying _way_ back; it turns out that he really likes being close to someone, prefers to be close to a heartbeat, and if that person could also be naked, then everything is perfect.

He’s still fairly finicky, but being held that close has helped him sleep better, which in turn helps Monica and me sleep better, and the twins seem to be more relaxed…overall, a happier house.

That sling comes in handy, though. Even I’ve taken to wrapping him up in it, keeping him close when I’m doing mundane, day to day activities. Happy baby equals happy mommy.

And happy mommy has been equaling horny mommy, and I’m all for that.

I slide my hand down her slowly, taking time to run my fingers over her side, her hip, her waist, and as much of her stomach as I can before she starts to feel uncomfortable. I run my hand across her pelvis, slowly dipping my fingers into her. Her head falls back as she lets out a low, quiet moan. In general, we try to use normal volume around the kids when they’re sleeping so they don’t grow up to be light sleepers; even though William doesn’t sleep for very long periods of time, when he does sleep, it’s pretty soundly.

But right now…neither of us wants to risk waking one of them up.

Her hips move against my hand; she bites her lip as she tries to keep her voice in check.

Watching her face move toward ecstasy is pretty incredible. It’s a huge turn on, but watching her is usually enough to make me forget about my own ache, at least for a little while.

“You don’t have to do this, Chandler,” she moans quietly, her body continuing to push against me.

“I need to get you primed,” I whisper, finding her lips once again. “This is going to be a quick show for me.” I curl my fingers a little within her and she gasps, her body going stiff for a moment before resuming its rhythmic, continuous pulse against me.

I want her so much I can’t see straight. I close my eyes and press my forehead against hers, just listening to the noises she makes.

I feel her muscles tighten around my fingers and I shudder, slowing my hand down to barely-there movement. “Are you ready, baby?”

“Yeahhhh,” she whimpers, and I pull my fingers from her, taking myself in hand, positioning myself at her entrance.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, the sensation of _her_ too much to bear.

I slide into her slowly—very,_ very _slowly—and I groan loudly at the feel of her, stopping barely an inch into it, breathing deeply, my entire body vibrating.

“You okay?” she whispers, stroking the hair at the nape of my neck. I open my eyes, looking down at her; she looks genuinely concerned for me.

I smile, pushing the hair back from her face with one hand. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” She smiles at me softly, waiting for an answer. “I’m okay. This feels _amazing_.”

The look on her face is pure happiness. “It really does.”

I push into her a little more, meeting no resistance, no gasp of pain or shock. All she does is moan happily, wrapping her arms around me tightly. She pushes her hips up a little, taking me in further, and I groan, sinking into her completely. I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, my entire body shaking. I’m surrounded by her and I’d forgotten how completely perfect it feels, how perfect _she_ feels.

I breathe heavily, resting my forehead on the pillow next to her. “I need a minute,” I whisper, and she nods her head, her fingers gently running up and down my back.

I’m so happy to be back here, and I don’t just mean having sex with wife. Just being close to her again, knowing that the strain of the last couple of months wasn’t something I did to hurt her, feels wonderful.

It killed me, thinking that I’d done something to upset her, that just my presence was enough to make her draw away from me. She wouldn’t talk to me, though I kept trying. I’d just get one-word answers, or she’d get distracted by the kids, and everything would get swept under the rug again for a while. She was still sleeping next to me for the most part, though it wasn’t uncommon to find her sleeping in a rocking chair or on the couch, the baby curled against her. How can I fault her for that?

It wasn’t the lack of sex that was bothering me—though I won’t deny I missed it—it was not being able to just _be_ with Monica. We’ve spent so many years together holding hands and cuddling and being overly affectionate, even before we were a couple, that to suddenly be without it, especially after an event that should have brought us even closer together, felt like I was missing a part of me.

It was horrible.

It’s so easy to forget the body image issues my wife has, especially when I look at her and it never occurs to me that she’s anything less than perfect. For the most part, she never seems that concerned with it, either. I just have to force myself to be more conscious of it, to be aware that this is something that will always be a part of Monica. And to reassure her that I love her, always and forever, without conditions or expectations beyond her loving me back.

I press my lips to her neck and thrust against her gently, slowly. She sighs into my ear. “I missed this so much.”

A shudder runs through my body, everything tingling. I feel like a kid again with the way my body’s responding to her, not a guy in his mid-thirties who’s been with his wife for over seven years.

“Breathe,” she whispers to me. “It’s okay.”

I chuckle a little, kissing her gently, trying to keep my pace slow. “Shouldn’t I be the one comforting you?”

“You’re the one about to pop,” she giggles, and I grunt a little in agreement.

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t talk to me,” I tell her through clenched teeth, only half serious. I slide my hand down to her thigh, dragging her leg over my hip. She moans into my ear at the increased contact, pushing her hips against me.

I wrap my arms around her, taking deep breaths, trying like hell to think of the least sexy things I can, which only works for about a second at a time; then I thrust into her again and all I can think about is how sensational she feels.

“I need to apologize in advance,” I groan, pressing my face into throat. “This is going to be the fastest thing ever.”

“I don’t care,” she breathes. “This feels so great.”

I don’t know if I completely believe her, but she seems to be responding with her usual gusto. I kiss the tops of her breasts for a moment before peeking up at her. “May I?”

She nods, opening her eyes a little to look at me. “Oh. Yeah. Just keep away from the nipple area.”

“Will do,” I answer, moving my lips to her breast, tracing my tongue over her gently, sucking at her carefully. I smile against her skin when I feel a shiver run through her body.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she whimpers, her back arching off the bed for a moment. I cup her other breast with my hand, tracing my fingers over her softly. Her hips thrust against me a little faster and I feel her hand in my hair. I look up at her again and see her eyes tightly shut, her mouth open as she makes soft noises.

That visual certainly isn’t going to help my stamina.

I move my lips to her other breast, trying to give it the same treatment, doing this helping to shift my focus from how wonderful she feels just a bit.

I missed being with her so much; aside from the fact that it feels like nothing else in the world, the actual connection I feel to her just completely floors me. We truly feel like one person in these moments, and it’s not hard to believe that we managed to beat the odds and make a baby.

I sigh against her, moving my face back to hers, kissing her cheeks, her chin, her nose. “God, I love you, lady.”

“I love you, Chandler.” Her eyes open, meeting mine, a fine sheen a tears glistening in them. There’s so much love there, so much everything. “I love you so much.”

Another shudder ripples through my body. I pump against her faster despite my best efforts, and I know I have to speed this up for her a little, too. I refuse to have our first time back be one-sided.

I slide my hand between us, my fingers seeking her out, her body jerking at the contact. “Gooooooood,” she moans, pressing her cheek against mine, her limbs wrapping around me tightly, her internal muscles clenching around me.

“Jesus, Mon,” I gasp. I thrust into her faster, my fingers moving against her faster. Her fingers dig into my back, her hips meeting mine frantically.

Oh, God, I’m about to be in trouble.

My body tingles all over; the pit of my stomach is coiled into a tight spring, ready to explode. I grit my teeth, try to clear my mind.

Doesn’t help.

I stop thrusting suddenly and she stares at me in shock. I rub her frantically; even though I’m not moving I still feel like I’m on the edge. Her own hips haven’t stopped moving. She still feels fantastic.

She watches me through eyes at half-mast, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Oh, God,” she says suddenly, and I feel her tighten even more around me. “Oh, yeah. There. Theretherethere.” I start thrusting into her again; it’s only moments before I’m right where I left off. She presses her face into my shoulder, only partially muffling herself. I feel her toes curl against the backs of my thighs. “Yes,” she moans softly. “Oh oh oh oh oh oh ohhhhhhh.”

I jerk into her violently, almost painfully as she spasms around me, and for a moment I’m beyond amazed that I managed to hold out long enough for her. Then all thought is gone from my head as I’m lost in the sensation of my beautiful wife.

I pant against her skin when I finally come back to myself, my head pillowed against her chest. I reach out blindly, finding her hand, dragging it to my lips. “Sorry,” I gasp. “Next time will be better.”

“Well, gee, if it has to be.” I look up at her, and she’s grinning at me widely. “Personally, I quite enjoyed our first foray back into sex.”

I shake my head, leaning up to kiss her. “Still. Next time, I won’t behave like a horny seventeen-year-old.”

She runs a hand through my hair, kissing me tenderly, before I shift off her just a little, holding her close, keeping our fingers linked. “It’s been a while,” she answers softly. “I think we both held up nicely, all things considered.”

“Speaking of,” I say, kissing the back of her hand. “You seemed to have a sudden change of heart. I didn’t want to mention it before—I mean, I’m crazy, not stupid—but I wasn’t expecting you to be in the mood all of a sudden.”

She giggles a little, turning her face to mine, pressing a quick kiss against my lips. “I wasn’t either. But do you know how hard it is to believe bad stuff about myself when all I get all day is you telling me how wonderful you think I am? How can I be self-conscious about my body when you get so turned on just being near me? I’m sure I’ll have more ‘moments’ before this is all over, but you do such a good job of loving me, it’s tough to not want to love you back.”

“Monica, I will spend the rest of my life loving you with every fiber of my being. Nothing could ever change that.” Not only do I mean it, I know with absolute certainty that it’s true.

Her hand goes to the back of my head, dragging my lips to hers, kissing me soundly. “You know how you’re always saying that motherhood is sexy on me and that it’s a turn-on to watch me with the kids?”

“Mmmmm, yeah.”

“Well, it goes both ways, you know. Watching you take care of the kids, seeing how good you are with them…it’s so hot. I know you think I was born to be a mother, but I think it’s definitely possible you were meant to be a father.”

I shrug a little, feel a bit self-conscious at the compliment. “Only with you, Mon. There is _no one_ else in this world that I would want to do this with.”

She smiles smugly. “Good.” She shifts a little, making a face.

“Everything okay?”

“Boobs,” she answers. “They already feel like they’re ready for another feeding.”

I untangle our fingers, tenderly tracing the edge of her nipple. “How do you know?”

“They usually feel like there’s a lot of pressure in them. William’s good for relieving that almost instantly.”

“I think we got a breast pump at the baby shower. I can dig that out if you want to use it.”

“Nah. It’s much easier just to attach him when it feels like they need to be emptied. I don’t know if we’ve found the end of his appetite yet, so he’s usually pretty good about just latching on and going for it.”

I lean over and kiss the side of her breast, nuzzling her softly. “Are they sore?”

“My boobs?”

“Nipples. You told me to keep away from them, so I didn’t know if that was why or…” My voice trails off. “Is it okay to ask you this stuff?”

“Of course it is. All of this affects you, too. But, yeah, they’re a little sore. Could be worse, I guess. Mostly, I just didn’t want you to wind up with a mouthful of breast milk.”

Lord help me, but I’m intrigued. “I guess that would be weird, right?”

She pauses, and I feel her gaze shift down to my face. “Did you want to try it?”

I shrug, tracing little circles around her breast. “I don’t know.” I look up at her, feeling a little helpless. “It’s weird, right?”

She shrugs back at me. “I don’t know. Maybe. But not if we’re both okay with it...right?”

I can’t help but feel a little surprised. “You’d…be into it?”

“It’s something we could consider. I mean, in the heat of the moment, it could be all right.”

“And, you know, William’s really into it, so it can’t be all bad.” I shake my head to myself. “I can’t do that to him. It’s his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midday snacks.”

“I don’t really have a limited supply, you know. He needs it and I can make it. Plus, I read that sexual stimulation can increase milk production, so not only will it be your fault if I make more, but you’ll be doing me a favor to relieve some of the pressure.”

“Anything for you, babe.” She smiles at me then yawns suddenly, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“Sorry.”

I pull her against me, and she immediately wraps around me. I look at the clock then settle my cheek against her head. “Sleep. We probably have another hour before one of them gets up. Let’s take it where we can get it.”

I feel her lips on my chest. “Won’t fight you there.”

Almost immediately her breathing deepens, and I follow her moments later. I only stir when I feel her shift away from me. I crack an eye open and see her at the edge of the bed, pulling on her bathrobe.

“What’s up? How long were we asleep?” I mumble.

She leans over and kisses me, patting my leg. “About forty minutes. My boobs can’t take it anymore, so I’m going to get William. Maybe he’ll be kind and just eat in his sleep.”

I sigh and stretch. “I’ll go get Jack and Erica.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll get them first and bring them in. Just…put your pants on or something.” With that, she disappears from the room, though I hear her a moment later in the twins’ room, greeting them softly. Judging by the giggles and their quiet, nonsensical chattering, they’re already up. I pull my pajama pants on as I hear her ask, “Want to go see Daddy?” Just a few moments later, she walks back into our room, Jack on her hip, Erica’s hand in hers as our daughter does her best to act independent. I hold my hands out, pulling Jack onto the bed next to me, then give Erica a gentle tug, making her giggle as I pull her up. She settles on my lap, smiling happily.

“You two ready for Halloween?” Jack cuddles against my side, still waking up, his fingers gently plucking at the hair on my arm. “I know, big guy. It’s a lot to take in. The costumes, the candy, the people fawning all over your cuteness…it’s rough.” Erica falls forward against my chest suddenly, giggling. I tickle her sides gently, making her giggle a little louder. “You’re the silliest. I don’t even know what to do with all that silliness. But just wait until everyone sees you all dressed up. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, Daddy.” I look up and see Monica walking back into the room, William tucked into Monica’s robe, his little naked body pressed against his mother’s skin, his mouth already attached to her breast. “But dressing them up in Star Wars costumes isn’t as cute as something fluffy or squishy.”

“They’re going to be Luke and Leia—what’s cuter than that?”

She rolls her eyes as she sits down next to me, tilting her head to smile at Erica, who’s still pressed against my chest. “Hi, sweet pea.” She leans over and kisses her head; William squawks, and I’m sure the nipple has popped out of his mouth. She makes a face at me as she adjusts the baby, and he’s quiet again, save for his suckling noises. “Almost anything is cuter than Luke and Leia. Bunnies? Bears? Any other woodland creature?”

“Mama,” Jack says, crawling onto her lap a moment later. She wraps her free arm around him and he leans into her—from the angle, it looks like he’s staring at his brother, but most likely, he’s still trying to wake up.

“I know, honey,” Monica says, leaning down to kiss his head. “Daddy’s making you dress up like some weird space dude. It’s no fun.”

I wrap my arms around Erica and she sighs. I look down to make sure she’s not sleeping suddenly, but her eyes are wide open. She’s just in cuddle-mode. “It’s better than dressing our baby up like a monster.”

Monica shakes her head as she tries to fight a smile. “He’s not going to be a monster. He’s Max from _Where The Wild Things Are_. He’s going to be all warm and fuzzy and cute.”

I lean over and kiss her shoulder. “Next year, we can dress them as R2-D2, C3PO, and Yoda.”

She looks at me, pouting. “Can’t you wait until they’re all a little older and make the choice on their own to be sci-fi geeks instead of breaking them into it early?”

“Better to reel them in when they’re young,” I answer. “And, come on—they _are_ the droids we’re looking for.”

She groans, shaking her head. “Oh, God. _Why_ is the fact that you’re a nerd such a turn on?”

I shift a little closer to her, pressing my side to hers. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“You must be,” she answers, leaning her head on my shoulder. “That’s the only way I can think of that you’d get me to agree to costumes like that.”

“The Force is strong with me,” I answer sagely, and Erica sits up, staring at me, confused. Monica snorts, trying to hold back her laughter.

“That young Padawan does _not_ agree.”

“Traitor,” I say to our daughter, sticking my tongue out at her. She giggles at me again. “And Erica, just so you know, your mommy just made a Star Wars reference all on her own. She’s a geek, too.”

Monica shakes her head, sighing. “You’ve had the _worst_ influence on me.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “And you love it.”

“Yeah, I do.”


End file.
